


Why Lothlórien Changed Everything

by Mawgon



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bearded Dwarf Women, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Elf Culture & Customs, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 37,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawgon/pseuds/Mawgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Legolas volunteered to join the Fellowship, he knew that there would be a Dwarf in it. What he did not know was that said Dwarf would never wash, consequently smell like wild boar, and constantly take offence at everything.<br/>And then the Lady Galadriel forms a favourable opinion of Gimli, and suddenly, Legolas does not know what to believe anymore. </p><p>Gimli has a secret. A secret that means that washing at some stream would be a terribly bad idea, and being blindfolded for an entire day is a really, really, really bad thing. Fortunately, Galadriel understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Legolas’ first impression of Rivendell was that it was a queer place, though he knew not why he felt that way.  
Maybe it was because he had expected it to be familiar, and it was not so. There was something unsettling about the place. Not the gardens, though they were bright and filled with unfamiliar flowers, nor the buildings, for all that they seemed frail and devoid of protection. 

The position he found himself in, to be the bringer of bad news, was not a very pleasant one, and yet he found that was not the source of the unsettling feeling either, for after he had confessed that Gollum was escaped, the feeling remained. 

 

It was only when the Fellowship had already departed on their quest that Legolas realized what it was. 

There was not a single woman in the Fellowship. Rivendell, too ... it might be coincidence, but parsing through his memories, Legolas found that the guards that had received him had been male, as had been all who had spoken to him. 

Plenty were his father’s tales on the evils of mortals, and Legolas could easily guess why the women in Rivendell would not want to talk to any of the male mortals. But he, Legolas! Was he not their kin? Was he not to be trusted? 

Their questioning his honour, he would have understood. Yet their behaviour seemed to question his very self. The evils of Men were so alien to an elf, so impossible, it was like ... like expecting a horse to eat meat. 

What secret horror loomed in Rivendell to cause such behaviour? Was it, indeed a horror as terrible as a carnivorous horse?

In the evening, they made camp near a copse. The rivulet that wound among the trees, Legolas discovered to his delight, was not fully frozen over. 

Carefully, he placed his bow and quiver as well as his cloak at the chosen campsite. “I’ll wash”, he said, answering Boromir’s questioning glance. “My knife should be protection enough, and I will not be far away, anyway.”

Boromir just nodded, but as he turned to walk away, Legolas heard, someone mutter “Elves” with clear disapproval. He turned in the direction and saw Gimli, who was busy starting a fire and not looking at him ... yet the voice could only belong to the dwarf. 

Legolas could not discern what, exactly, it was that the dwarf disapproved of. When he knelt down next to the water and stripped off his tunic, he still had no idea. Surely, no one would disapprove of washing?  
No, certainly not. He pulled his shirt over his head, scratched a piece off the soap he carried in a pouch on his belt, and started to wash with the icy water.

Perhaps his leaving the camp was what the dwarf disapproved of – but the camp was not unguarded! Nor was the Ringbearer. 

It really made no sense, except of course the old enmity between his kin and the dwarves might mean that he didn’t even need to give offence to warrant an insult. 

He had resolved to be friendly with the dwarf, but if such was the state of matters, then perhaps being civil would be the utmost he could achieve. At the very least, he would try to ignore the insults aimed at him. 

 

After three days of travelling, Legolas found he needed to wash, not only his body, as he did frequently enough whenever he could find a body of water that was not frozen over, but also his hair. So he got up early, got a fire going and heated water in a kettle. 

When the water was warm enough and he could start washing, he found he had acquired an audience of four Hobbits. 

“How can you wash your hair in this cold?” Merry wanted to know. “It’s freezing!”

“That is why I heated the water”, Legolas explained, laughing. It was not perfect, he could not pour as much water over his hair as he would have preferred, but he felt much cleaner. 

“Yes, but ... your hair will be wet all day”, Pippin pointed out. 

“It will be quite easy to comb the ice out.”

Their horrified faces reminded him that, after all, he was talking to Mortals here. “The cold does not affect me as it does you.” 

“But it is a good idea”, Sam said. He didn’t speak as much as the others, but Legolas had already noticed that it was Sam who could be counted on to have the sensible thoughts. “If we have time, I should like to heat some more water and wash – not my hair, though.”

And so Legolas found out how Mortals reacted to cold. Not well, that was. The hobbits stripped to their waists and washed very, very quickly, staying close to the fire – and they still all shivered with the cold and he could hear the chattering of their teeth. 

The Men also decided to wash, and in the end, it was just Gimli who stood aside. Gandalf had gone to scout ahead. 

 

The day after that, he first noticed the smell. He stood downwind from the camp, gathering some dead wood for a campfire. There was a distinct smell of wild boar. His hand went to his knife – a poor weapon if he would indeed have to take on a wild boar. 

“Legolas?” Aragorn had noticed. 

He scanned the surroundings, but saw nothing. “I thought I noticed the stench of wild boar”, he said at last, and walked over to the other side of the camp. Here, he did not notice any smell. Strange. Perhaps there were truffles on the campsite? They smelled a bit like boar, so that would be an explanation. 

Later, when they sat down around the campfire, he noticed it again. Now, the stench was almost unbearable. And he was able to make out the source – Gimli. 

Did the Dwarf wear the skin of a boar? But that would not fully account for the smell, as the tanning process would remove most of it. 

“Is roasted meat not good enough for your Elvish palate?” said Dwarf now grumbled. “Better get used to it, you won’t get much of anything fancy in the days to come.”

Legolas shot him an irritated look. He had said nothing at all!

But the Dwarf obviously looked to find offence where none was given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going with the not-quite-book-canon statement that female Elves die if they are raped. Which would in turn lead to male Elves never developing a habit of raping, as all those who do would go extinct. From this it logically follows that patriarchy as we know it would not develop.   
> Legolas knows that Men are different, but hasn't often seen them, and in the Greenwood, Tauriel is Captain of the royal guard, and half of the guards are female. Therefore, culture shock in Rivendell, where everything is a bit more influenced by Men and female Elves do not show their faces all that often.


	2. Chapter 2

As the journey continued, Legolas developed the theory that the dwarf somehow managed to produce this smell intentionally, in order to annoy him. After all, he had noticed nothing of the sort in Rivendell, and while washing might be uncomfortable for the Mortals, it surely could be done!

True, the others were not much better – Gandalf and Aragorn, as well as the Hobbits smoked their pipes whenever there was opportunity to do so. But the smell of pipeweed was different, more like fire, and Legolas felt able to get used to it. 

Gimli seemed to chew his weed, but that was certainly more of a cultural thing than any consideration for Legolas’ sensitive nose. 

In the mines of Moria, Legolas soon forgot his petty resentment, for the stench of orc was much worse than that of unwashed dwarf, and Gimli’s grief at the deaths of his kin was so earnest that Legolas was a bit ashamed to have thought him capable of such childish pettiness. 

In the heat of battle, Gimli often stood at his side, and Legolas was glad of it. 

Maybe they could be friends after all. 

When they escaped Moria, it was at a steep price. Gandalf the Grey was no more. And though Legolas was deeply grieved by this, he also endeavoured to honour Mithrandir’s memory. The wizard had wanted peace between Elves and Dwarves, and this strengthened Legolas’ resolve to forgive Gimli’s faults. 

 

Not long after their escape, Gimli warned them all away from drinking the water of some spring, explaining that it was icy cold. 

This, Legolas filed away in his mind. Could it be that Dwarves, used to the fire of their forges, were less able to deal with cold than even Hobbits? That they were not even able to drink cold water, where Legolas would have happily melted ice in his mouth? That washing was virtually impossible? It would be a more likely explanation than that Gimli would go to such lengths merely to annoy Legolas. 

So Legolas watched. And noticed many things, among them that he was the only target of Gimli’s resentment. The Hobbits, their smallest and weakest companions, were always treated with respect. 

Legolas had rarely needed to make a judgement as to someone’s character, but now he remembered what he had been taught – to look not how someone treated those more powerful, but how they treated those unable to defend themselves. 

When they came to the stream of Nimrodel, and Legolas suggested to wade through, he only noticed after their crossing that Gimli shivered with the cold, and remembered with some pang of conscience his earlier speculations. Could he not have found a better path, one where the water was not quite so deep? How could he have forgotten entirely that not all of them were as impervious to cold as he? 

At least, the Hobbits, for all that the rest of their bodies were susceptible to cold, seemed not much affected. 

Legolas sat down, not suggesting to rest, but doing so, and that was all the encouragement Gimli needed to light a fire and warm his feet. 

Something, perhaps the proximity of Nimrodel, stirred up a desire to sing, and so Legolas sang the song of Nimrodel, and told the others of the history of the place. 

When afterwards, Gimli, of his own accord, stated that the Elves’ dwelling in the trees was sensible, Legolas felt a deep satisfaction, as though his song had brought about that ... change of mind? Perhaps, or perhaps Dwarves were not as opposed to dwelling above the ground as he had assumed them to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This might ruin your enjoyment of the Lothlórien blindfold scene forever. It is perfectly suitable for children, but ... be warned.

It was well after they had entered the woods of Lórien that Legolas again lost his patience with the Dwarf. Not to be trusted hurt, that much he could understand, and yet – it would not gain more trust to foolishly refuse a blindfold.   
And, after all, a Dwarf could not have much appreciation for the trees, anyway, so to Gimli it would have been no hardship. To Legolas it was. 

He had thought that all was settled when Gimli consented to the blindfold under his ridiculous conditions, but no, it was not so. At nightfall, when they sat down to rest, the Dwarf tried to remove the cloth from his eyes. Of course, Haldir would not allow this, and sharp words were traded, until finally, Gimli ceased his grumbling. 

Legolas had only half listened, and only remembered that a need to pass water had been mentioned when he noticed a new stench. 

Impossible!

No one would – and yet, there was no doubt, as the stench followed them for much of the march on the next day, too. 

When he was finally allowed to see Lórien, Legolas was ready to believe every bad word his father had to say about Dwarves, and then some. 

No one, of course, said anything about the stench. 

News had come from Rivendell, and Gimli was now treated with much more courtesy, so of course, it was impossible for anyone to offer insult by mentioning it ...

 

Legolas thoughts drifted, distracted by the beauty of the golden woods, and lulled by the safety, so it was with some surprise that he noticed that Gimli was gone. 

“The Dwarf requested a tent”, Boromir explained. “It would have spared us much trouble if your kin had given in to his requests before.”

“Maybe”, was all that Legolas had to say on the topic, though he heartily agreed with the Man of Gondor on this.

Still. Gimli was at least as much to blame as the Elves of Lórien. 

When the Dwarf returned, the smell was no longer so noticeable, and Legolas breathed out in relief.   
To meet the Lady Galadriel with such a companion, it would have been too much to bear. 

 

And meet the Lady they did. 

Afterwards, Legolas spoke less than had been his wont, for he was deep in thought. That the Lady should favour Gimli so! And not only, Legolas thought, to show goodwill to the Dwarves. No, she must have seen something in the heart of Gimli, son of Glóin, that was to her liking. 

Perhaps even more was he shaken by Gimli’s reaction to those kind words the Lady had bestowed unto him. Who would have thought the surly Dwarf could have such a silver tongue?

And why had Legolas never managed to elicit such courtesy from one he had long travelled with? 

His mind told Legolas that it was to be expected, that the Lady of Lórien was much wiser than he, that she could see into the hearts of others ... and still, his pride was hurt. 

As he wandered through the woods one of those days, Legolas came upon a little rivulet, and he followed it for a while. He was greatly startled when he saw red streaks in the water. Blood?

He had no weapon on him, and yet, he could not simply walk away. Swift and silent were his steps as he walked upstream. 

Much to his relief, there was no fight to be seen. No, what he saw before him was just Gimli, who did not notice him as he was busy washing clothes. 

Bloodstained clothes? 

“You have been wounded!” Legolas cried out in surprise. How could that have escaped his notice? 

Gimli jumped, and quickly hid the item he was washing behind his back. “What are you doing here, Elf?”

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you. Yet you are wounded – let me tend to your wounds.” 

“Wounded? Nonsense, I’m not wounded!”

A plague on the stiff neck of this Dwarf! “This is blood.” And now that Legolas thought about it, not enough fabric for it to be a shirt that may have been stained with blood in hunting, but a small piece of cloth, such as could have only been used for dressing wounds. “Fresh blood, and I know that Sam’s wound is healed. Do you not want help at least with your washing?”

“Begone, Elf – it is none of your business!” Gimli yelled. “Leave me alone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That scene. Really, what was Tolkien thinking? As a scene in a book it is nice, but real people will have to pee somewhen. Well, perhaps Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits have metabolisms that produce less waste ... but at the very least the two humans in this group would have normal human needs. And even assuming that peeing is all they'd have to do in about one whole day ... wet shoes would have been something that could absolutely have happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Legolas walked away in silence. His kindness, it seemed, would not beget kindness in turn as it was with the Lady Galadriel. 

He found a suitable tree, which he claimed to rest in its branches. There was something comforting about being surrounded by branches and leaves. Still, he could not but think about the incidence. 

That the blood in the stream was Gimli’s own, Legolas was certain. From this, the only conclusion was that Gimli was wounded. It begged the question why he had not asked anyone to tend to his wounds ... Legolas’ offer he had rejected, but what about the Men and Hobbits? What enmity was there between Dwarves and Men, or Hobbits?

There was also the question as to the location of the wound. Gimli was wearing a chainmail shirt, and while it was not Mithril, it looked sturdy enough, and was not damaged. That left only the legs – and with a leg wound that bled so much, would Gimli not have been forced to shift his weight on the uninjured leg? Yet Legolas had noticed nothing like it. 

He thought long on the matter, and at last it came to him, that the injury could be of a different origin than orc-blades. 

Blood-letting was one practice that Men thought to be beneficial to their health. Maybe it was the same for Dwarves. Legolas remembered well his shock at reading this in one of the many books in his father’s library.   
“Why would they think that creating a wound would give the body more strenght, instead of less?”, he has asked one of the healers. 

“I have heard many theories on why they think so”, she had replied. “The soundest one is that female Men live some few years longer than the male ones. As you may have read, female Men bleed every month if they are not with child. From this, Men have concluded that to lose blood is good for them.”

It was foolish, of course – one might as well think that the trees losing their leaves brought about the onset of winter, as both happened at the same time. And yet, if Dwarves believed the same, then that might explain – but did female Dwarves bleed? Legolas only knew about Men. Of Dwarves, he had heard but rumours. That there were no female Dwarves, for example. A ridiculous notion. Without female, there was no male. If Dwarves indeed sprung from the earth instead of being born, then they would be neither ...

Legolas’ thoughts halted,. Suddenly, he realized that indeed he had never seen Gimli naked. Where the Men and Hobbits just pissed at the wayside without shame, the Dwarf always made sure he had privacy. Elbereth! Could it be? Could Dwarves be that different from any other sentient species on Arda, without anyone knowing?

Much would be explained by that. If it was not known as of yet, the Dwarves would surely want to keep it secret. 

Even so, not always, not everywhere had Elves and Dwarves been enemies. Would not in times of friendship, someone have noticed, at the very least, that Dwarf families were not like ... and why would Gimli be the son of Glóin, if they had no parents? The two looked much alike, too ...

And then Legolas’ face heated and he felt a blush creep up to his ears, for a much more reasonable suspicion came to his mind. 

What if Gimli simply was a female Dwarf?

 

There was nothing to prove the opposite, except Gimli’s word. 

Legolas chuckled darkly, as he could almost hear the Dwarf’s voice in his mind, reproaching him for doubting his word. 

And yet ... it would provide an explanation for everything. Gimli’s seeming disregard for cleanliness, followed by the hurry to get cleaned up once it was possible to do so with privacy ... and the reaction to Legolas’ offer of help ... and Gimli’s seemingly very unreasonable refusal to wear a blindfold. Mostly due to this last one, Legolas desperately hoped to be wrong. “Ai! Elbereth!”, he sighed, and hid his face in his hands. 

“Is that you, Elf?”

Legolas startled, and almost fell out of the tree, but caught himself on a branch with one hand. “It is me”, he admitted flatly, then leapt to the ground. A sudden weakness made him lean against the tree. What if ... ?

Gimli gave a short nod. “I apologize for my harsh words, earlier. Your offer was kindly meant.”

“But invaded your privacy”, Legolas voiced the unspoken words. 

“Aye, that it did.”

“I shall not repeat it, then, and ask your forgiveness for ever making it.”

“You have it.”

 

They walked in companionable silence, and Legolas relaxed a little. 

 

In the following days, Legolas often asked Gimli to accompany him on his walks, and those requests were never denied. Indeed, Gimli’s new civility towards him much surprised some of the Company, with Boromir being the least able to hide it. The Man of Gondor was proud – perhaps he expected all others to be as well, and hold a grudge where it benefited no one. 

Legolas paid a bit closer attention to the frequency with which Gimli interrupted their walks to seek the relative privacy of some trees and shrubs. 

He also made sure to turn his back on such occasions, and pretend to be caught in admiration of some beautiful tree or the other, which was no hardship for all the trees of Lórien were beautiful. 

Sometimes he wondered if he should ask – but no. There was no way to do so without causing offence, one way or the other. 

For the time being, Legolas was content to be considered a tolerable companion by Gimli. 

However, there was a lingering feeling that this would not be always so, for his pride was still wounded when Gimli spoke of the Lady Galadriel and her wisdom, and he wished in his heart to attain similar praise.


	5. Chapter 5

When they left Lórien, and Gimli asked Galadriel for one of her hairs, Legolas held his breath, fearing that his dear companion would face rejection and reproach. 

It cost him much to not laugh in surprise and joy when the Lady offered to give Gimli not only one, but three of her hairs. 

However, it did give Legolas much to think about. One thing it proved was that Gimli must be beyond reproach, pure of heart indeed, to be granted such a token. 

Would the Lady Galadriel hold it against one lone female in a group of males, male Mortals most of them, to deceive everyone about her sex? Likely not. 

Any other kind of deception, or the likes of foolish pride that might keep Men from admitting to their injuries, such as Legolas had sometimes witnessed, the Lady may not have looked so kindly on, perhaps. Yet Legolas could not claim to know her mind, only that her judgement had never failed. 

 

Uneventful days went by, and Legolas found that he finished his washing in the mornings faster than he usually did – for he now noticed Gimli would stare away in the distance, turning his back on him. 

He also noted that while he brushed his hair, he often looked at Gimli, as if to discern ... what? Did he really think he could compete with the Lady Galadriel? 

Legolas oft chuckled softly at his own foolishness. 

Once, Gimli noticed it, and asked for the reason of his sudden mirth. 

“I was thinking”, Legolas replied, not untruthfully, “of the Lady Galadriel. Did you know that you are not the first one to ask her for one of her hairs?”

“... yet the first one to receive three?”

“In fact, Feanor was not granted even a single one.”

“Feanor? That sounds like an Elvish name!”

Legolas bowed his head and did not try to hide his smile. “An Elf he was, indeed. And to imagine his face were he to know a Dwarf succeeded where he did not, ah! It would be a sight to see!”

And at last, Gimli chuckled. “I see.”

 

Legolas thought back, with some shame, to this lie of omission, when Frodo was gone, and Boromir seemed to have not told all he knew about the matter.

Could he judge Boromir, where he himself had erred? One might say it was different, and yet – Legolas’ lie had been born from cowardice. 

So he set out after Boromir, and later, he often thought back to that moment, and of what might have come to pass had he now followed. 

For the enemy was soon upon them, and had it not been for Legolas’ bow, Boromir might have been slain, Merry and Pippin abducted, as seemed to be the intent of their attackers. 

Legolas himself might not have lived to see another sunrise, had not Gimli suddenly been there, axe gleaming, cutting down the orcs as though they were no more than grass under a scythe. 

When Aragorn arrived, Boromir was severely wounded, while Gimli claimed to be alright. “’tis only a flesh wound”, he mumbled when Legolas turned to check on him. 

Legolas helped Aragorn carry Boromir to their camp, then went to see what had become of Gimli. 

The Dwarf was limping noticeably, and flinched with every step. Merry and Pippin were looking at him with some uncertainty, as though they knew not whether to contradict him, or not. 

“Please”, Legolas said softly. “Let me tend to your wound.” He knew from the blood on Gimli’s clothes where the wound must be – somewhere at the thigh, where an orc that had not been quite dead had stabbed upwards, thrusting its blade under the chainmail. Legolas had first thought the orc had missed, yet it seemed that was not so. 

“There”, Legolas pointed at a large rock. “This will shield you from the Men’s view, you may show pain and no one will be the wiser.” He inclined his head towards Merry and Pippin. “Would you please fetch some bandages, and water for cleaning? I will tend Gimli’s wounds, with me he will not have to downplay the pain, as he cares nothing for the opinion of an Elf.”

“I would not be so sure of _that_ ”, Pippin replied, but both Hobbits went to do his bidding. 

Gimli sat down to lean against the rock with some reluctance. “It is really not that bad – I can take care of that myself. Even if left untreated, it should heal in time.” 

“A wound caused by an orcblade is not to be trifled with.” Legolas frowned. “And you have not see the wound – do you just judge from the pain?”

“Aye. I can bear that.”

“Which needs not mean much.” Legolas smiled. “I know you are brave, and could endure worse.” 

 

Still, Gimli looked at him with a guarded expression. “And I still wish you would not insist.”

Legolas sighed. “Then I shall no longer try to persuade you – just – just this one question: If the Lady Galadriel were here, and if she offered to have a look at your wound, would you let her?”

“Aye.” Gimli paled as soon as he had spoken. “No! That is to mean – I would never ask her to - “ At last, he fell silent. 

“He is right”, came the voice of Pippin somewhere behind Legolas. “You should have that looked at. Could get infected otherwise. I’m not a warrior, and even I know that!”

“Well, then”, Gimli hissed, and it was obvious this assent was not freely given. “The Elf shall have a look, But I will not be made a spectacle of.”

Pippin set down a kettle of heated water with healing herbs in it, and Merry handed Legolas some bandages. “Do not worry, Master Dwarf”, he said as he turned. “Boromir is far worse wounded than you, and much more of a spectacle. We shall go and look how much he understated the extent of his injuries.”

So they did, and Gimli now stared at Legolas with wide open eyes, terror on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

Legolas would know. He surely must know – the wound was placed so inconveniently that not even the Elf’s ignorance of Dwarven anatomy could save Gimli. He might shrug it off that a male Dwarf had somewhat less of a bulge at the front of his breeches than a Man, but he would know female parts when he saw them. 

And then, what might happen? 

Oh, to have stayed in the safety of Lothlorien, under the Lady’s gentle protection! 

Gimli loved Legolas well; yet it was the Legolas known to Gimli, son of Glóin. He might, or might not, be the same as Legolas as known to Gimli, daughter of Glóin.   
She knew how Men could be, Men who even cared about Dwarves they believed to be male, how they would speak without compassion of the suffering of female Men, how they themselves would cause such suffering with a smile on their faces ...

Legolas turning against her – that would hurt most of all. 

“I know you value your privacy”, Legolas said gently. “If you would just remove your breeches, you can cover yourself with the tunic while I examine the wound.”

“Aye.” Damned Elf and his calming voice. She should not take the risk. She really shouldn’t. 

But she did. It took some fumbling but finally, she had moved the cloth away from the wound, and was still covered where it mattered. 

So easy for his hands to stray where they should not, so very easy ...

“It is a large gash”, Legolas scolded. “The only truth you spoke was that it does not go down to the bone!” His hands were warm on her skin, and seemed to ease the pain even now, while he was cleaning the wound with a piece of linen he had soaked in hot water. “The blood has flushed out most of the dirt, that is fortunate. But ...”

“Aye. It feels like there’s something still in the wound. Difficult to tell, hurts enough as is.”

“I shall have to find out- do you want something to bite on?”

“No, I’ve had worse.” 

The Elf’s fingers in the wound weren’t nearly as bad as some of the burns she had had in the forges. 

“Ah! There was a splinter of metal – I wonder if the blade was fashioned so it would break – “

“Just low-quality steel, I’d wager.” The strange sensation of something foreign in her body was gone, and she really didn’t want this to take longer than absolutely necessary. 

“Here.” Legolas held the bloody splinter right before her eyes. “Maybe you want to have a look at it? See why it broke off the blade?”

“Later.” His being focused on the wound had been a relief. “Now, anything else, or can you hand me the bandages?”

“I should like to sew that wound. There will be stretch on it while we travel.”

That logic, Gimli could not fault. “Alright.”

Legolas kept a needle in a pouch on his belt, already threaded. “I hope it is alright for you that I sew your wound with my hair; even though it is not near as beautiful as that of the Lady Galadriel – it is clean, though.”

His hair? Aye, that made sense. It was certainly long enough to be used as such. “I wish to give the Lady’s hair a far better housing than this”, Gimli replied. 

Galadriel had been incredibly helpful. Gimli’s admiration for her was in no way related to her beauty, but Legolas need not know that. Admiring a woman for her beauty was something male Men did, so Gimli had immediately grasped the opportunity. Much to Galadriel’s subtle amusement. 

“A better one?” Legolas’ disbelief seemed almost genuine. “Well, then you will have to make by your own hands something superior to your own form. Since the latter was made by one of the Valar, that might prove difficult.” He gave Gimli a broad smile. “Still, there is something to be said for a case that enables you to look at the Lady’s hair.”

Those words put Gimli in a sort of daze. Was Legolas ... certainly he had just meant to say that he valued Gimli as friend, but ... but still, it was a great compliment, and Gimli could not shake the feeling (hope?) that Mahal had only been mentioned to disguise Legolas’ own, very partial admiration for one of Mahal’s children in particular ...

Gimli bit on her lip when the needle entered her skin. It hurt just enough to wake her from her foolish dreams. 

Legolas’ hands did not stray, but his long limbs had to fold quite a bit for him to get where he wanted to, and Gimli watched in horror as the Elf’s elbow hit the space between her legs, where there should be something, but was not, as the carefully constructed bulge in her breeches was now entirely elsewhere. 

Squeaking in pain, as a male would do, was pointless, for Legolas must have felt that his elbow had hit nothing soft and squishy, just the inside of her thigh. 

“What is the matter?” Legolas looked up from his work. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” And that, exactly there, was the problem. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” 

Gimli froze. He knew! He ... or did he not know what she thought he did? Perhaps he just thought his good friend had lost something important in a battle long ago? “Thanks.”

“If I had known, I would never have agreed that you go blindfold through Lórien – that is; I would have left the decision to you, then and there”, Legolas spoke softly, while he continued to sew. 

“That decision was made when you spoke to Haldir, first?”

“It was.” Legolas sighed. “Now, you can bind your wound, if your desire was privacy, or let me do it, if it was only to keep your secret.”

“Give me the bandage – it is both. Have you elves no modesty?”

Legolas handed her some bandages. “Not like Men do, no”, he replied. “I shall shield you from view. Do not hesitate to ask for help; I can avert my gaze should need be.”

He got up and turned his back to her. 

“Not like Men do? You speak in riddles.” The sensible thing would be to end this conversation as soon as it had started. But Gimli just couldn’t lose the opportunity to learn more about Elves. 

“I would not pass water in public, it is rude. But naked bodies are nothing ... nothing noteworthy. A female Elf I am not bonded to is mostly the same to me as any male.”

“Mostly?” Damn it, she really should not. Fastening the bandage around her thigh was difficult enough without that kind of distraction. 

“It is hard to explain. I take it you know the ways of Men? Their excitement over naked skin, be it female or male, is alien to me. Beautiful hair, on the other hand ...”

“Hair?” 

“You do not think I keep my hair so long only so I can use it to sew wounds?”

“Oh Mahal – don’t say I ...” Lady Galadriel had not seemed offended when Gimli had suggested it in private. A lock of hair was a common lover’s token, but ... but not ... 

Legolas laughed, it was like the tinkling of silver bells. “No, you did not give offence. A hair separated from the head it adorned is just a hair, and not as such an inappropriate gift to receive from a married woman. It is only a full head of hair that ... well. I had hopes of attracting some female attention.” Legolas shook his hair for emphasis, and it flowed over his slender back like liquid gold. 

He had certainly achieved his goal. Though in an entirely different way than he had probably hoped. For all that Elves liked to accuse Dwarves of being greedy for gold, Legolas could not have predicted ... 

“Perhaps we can talk of it some more another day”, he continued. “Here comes Aragorn.”

“I’m almost ready.” And thank Mahal for that. Hastily Gimli pulled up the breeches and adjusted the bulge she had constructed from an old pair of socks. 

 

“Now, Legolas, what was it that Gimli chose to call ‘just a flesh wound’?”

“He spoke true, for the blade did not reach his bone.”

“And that is all that can be said to support this statement, I imagine.” Aragorn laughed. “A warrior should know better than to think a flesh wound not dangerous.” 

“I know better”, Gimli grumbled. “I just thought it better not to distract your attention from Boromir. How is he?”

Aragorn’s smile faded. “Then I am grateful, for indeed, his wounds are severe. He will have to get a good night’s sleep, at the very least, and then ... I would continue by boat to Minas Tirith, so that Boromir need not walk.”

“Where is Frodo? Did you find him?”

“Ah, I did not tell you that. A boat is missing, and some things. I believe what happened is that he decided to leave alone, and that Sam caught him in time to follow.” Aragorn sighed. “I would go after him, but if I did, Merry and Pippin would want to come. He decided to spare them, and I feel I should respect that.”

 

Gimli had a suspicion that there was something Aragorn didn’t tell them. Something about Boromir’s involvement in the matter. But she would not ask – as far as the ringbearer’s safety was involved, she trusted Aragorn completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boromir survived, but is in no state to just walk home. Which means that someone has to accompany him home. Not sure whether Aragorn would place as much importance on that as on chasing Hobbits that have been abducted by orcs, but ... well. I just hope it is plausible.


	7. Chapter 7

Legolas volunteered to take the first watch that night. There was too much on his mind, anyway. 

Merry and Pippin were restless, and he could well guess what their dreams were filled with – Frodo and Sam, all alone in Mordor. 

Aragorn and Boromir talked in hushed voices. Perhaps, in the morning, Boromir would make a confession. Legolas had some suspicion what it might be. 

And then there was Gimli, who had not even lain down. She stirred the glowing embers of their campfire, the light reflecting on her glorious red hair. 

Her hair. It was exceptionally beautiful. And Legolas wanted to touch it, in a way he had never wanted to touch anyone before. Not at all like Men reacted to a naked body, certainly, but ... there was something. 

Without even really thinking about it, he took his comb out and started to comb his hair. 

Eventually, Gimli got up and walked towards him. “Did you not say you would keep watch?”

“I can do two things at the same time.”

“Ah. So this is really just about keeping your hair tidy?”, she said, not quite in a whisper, but quiet enough to not be overheard. 

Legolas felt a blush creep up to his ears. “If you mean to ask if other Elves would find it inappropriate to comb their hair in public, then the answer is no.” And yet, Gimli had caught him. Part of him had hoped his hair would shine in the firelight, as hers did, and that ...

“So. How does this work, then? Beautiful hair is something you look for in a potential lover, aye?”

“Yes. It is, however, not ... not the same as how Men see naked bodies. They would be ashamed to sing of that beauty in songs.”

“Aye. I noticed. Nimrodel’s hair was described in that song you sang.” Gimli frowned. “As were her limbs. Is whiteness something Elves find attractive?”

Legolas shrugged. “I have never though much about it.Those of us who wander among the trees, we tend to be pale, so it is fortunate we find one another beautiful to behold. I imagine it must be similar for Dwarves? Your people spend a lot of time underground.”

Gimli sat down at his feet, and winced as she moved the leg on her injured side. “It is somewhat different. Those who mine coal, they are proud of their blackened hands and faces. Scars that are a different colour to the rest of the skin are also worn with pride. Of course, then there’s feasts and celebrations and the like. For such occasions, everyone scrubs their skin so it’s as white as alabaster. That’s to show off cleanliness.” 

“Ah.” Legolas nodded slowly, trying to put into words what he felt. “You have great wisdom. For few would think to explain to an ignorant outsider what their people’s customs are intended to achieve – either because they deem it obvious, or ... indeed, I think some Men have all but forgotten why they do things in the way they do.”

“It is not the custom of Dwarves do to things for no good reason”, Gimli replied, and there was no anger in her voice, as had happened so often before Lórien, there was flattered pride. “And I have oft noticed that outsiders do not understand a single thing about Dwarves.” After a pause, she continued. “Lady Galadriel is one notable exception to this ... and you, perhaps.”

“I would not say so”, Legolas said softly. “For not so long ago, I have wondered whether perhaps the rumours that Dwarves are not born but emerge from the rock, might be true.”

That was rewarded with a chuckle. “Really?”

“Much as it shames me, it is true. Though I soon concluded that you could not well be Glóin’s son if Dwarves had no parents.”

“He could have carved me from the rock.”

“In that case, he would have to have selected the rock to carve you from very carefully, so that the colour of your hair would be so alike.” Had he betrayed his admiration for that fiery red hair? Hastily, he continued: “And how could there be sons, if there were no daughters? You would be called Glóin’s child, then.”

“Perhaps. There are many good reasons to use the word ‘son’.”

Legolas sat down next to Gimli “And none at all to use the word ‘daughter’.”

“Some. There are some ...” Gimli hesitated before continuing. “But I did not know that when I arrived in Rivendell. Men are ... not to be trusted, and I had little hope that it would be better with Elves.”

“And what do you think now?” He scanned the surroundings. All was quiet, not a leaf moving out of place. 

“I trust you. And I trust Aragorn insofar as he would do nothing worse to me than leave me behind. The Man of Gondor, on the other hand ...”

Legolas glanced over to where the two Men were still engaged in whispered conversation. There was no threat of them overhearing anything, as the wind blew in Gimli’s and his direction, and Gimli spoke so quietly Legolas was not sure even a Man sitting directly next to them would have heard. “He is very proud and sure of himself”, Legolas agreed. “And that does not bode well, in many ways. What of the Hobbits?”

“I know not much of the Shire, and what I know seems to suggest they would not receive the news well – and Merry and Pippin, especially, I would not trust to keep a secret. Even if they wanted to ...”

“Indeed.” They tended to behave foolishly at times – as Gandalf had so correctly stated ... Gandalf, who was no more. “So you keep your secret for now. Yet should you be wounded more severely – perhaps lose consciousness ...?”

“I give you leave to reveal my secret if you think it unavoidable to guarantee my survival.”

Legolas relaxed, and finally lifted the comb to his hair once more.


	8. Chapter 8

When Gimli woke up, the sun had already risen, and Legolas and Aragorn were sitting around a rekindled campfire.   
Boromir lay a bit away from the fire, his face pale, paler than was normal for the Men of Gondor, Gimli thought. 

And now, one of the Hobbits stirred. 

They would have to rest for the day, anyway, but Gimli knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, so she sat up. Immediately, the cold air hit her. 

“Good morning”, Legolas chirped. His voice ... this voice was a weapon. Should be outlawed, Gimli thought to herself. His tone made her almost happy to be up at this hour. Which was unnatural, and she would have suspected it of being magic had there not been a much more likely explanation. 

“Whether it is good remains to be seen”, she grumbled. Finally, she pulled herself to her feet and walked over to the fire, to squeeze in between Legolas and Aragorn, as the other two sides of the fire were occupied by the sleeping Hobbits and Boromir. 

“I suppose we shouldn’t risk traveling today, not even by boat, so ...”

“About that”, Aragorn said quietly. “Boromir wants to tell you something. All of you.”

That had an immediate effect on Merry and Pippin, who sat up almost immediately. “Does he?”

“Yes.” That was said by Boromir, who Gimli had thought was still fast asleep. Now, the Man opened his eyes and turned his head towards them. “Thank you, my king.”

Gimli frowned. Boromir had never before spoken like this. There was respect in his voice, even reverence, perhaps. 

“Merry. Pippin. You deserve to know – I tried to take the ring from Frodo. He fled from me. For all that befalls him, I am to blame.”

The Hobbits stared at him with wide eyes, innocents that they were – Gimli was not very surprised, and she suspected that Legolas was even less. 

“You all came on this quest to protect Frodo. Follow him. Leave me behind. If I perish, it shall be my just punishment.”

Gimli looked upon him with wonder. That was not the proud man she had met at Elrond’s council. 

Merry first found his voice again. “Nonsense. We are not leaving you here!”

Pippin nodded vehemently. “Aragorn and the others can take you to Minas Tirith while we follow Frodo!”

Gimli shook her head. “You cannot go without protection. Four are more likely to be caught by enemies than two – and while you are brave, you are no warriors.”

“One of you could come with us?”, Pippin suggested timidly. 

“Not me, lad. My wound is not that bad, but I would only hold you back. To help Boromir limp back to Minas Tirith; I am well enough, to run after Frodo and Sam, no.”

“And for that reason, I will stay at Gimli’s side”, Legolas said. “Aragorn?”

“Boromir has pledged allegiance to me – I cannot leave him to die, or I would never be the king that Gondor needs.” Aragorn sighed. “My heart tells me that our quest ends here, that the ringbearer has made his decision and we are to respect it.”

“I believed those words to be my last”, Boromir whispered. “Else I would never ...”

“You spoke them, and you live.” Aragorn said simply. 

Merry and Pippin looked at each other. “I am frightened”, Merry admitted quietly. “But I couldn’t live with myself if ... if Sam and Frodo ... if something happens to them, just because I’m such a coward.”

“If it cheers you up”, Gimli replied. “It is not exactly safe here, either.”

“The orcs were hunting for Hobbits, I think.” Legolas looked at Boromir. “Did they not?”

“I overheard ... they wanted the Hobbits alive.”

Gimli nodded. “And it is better if they don’t know which two Hobbits.” 

“So, we would be ... a distraction?” Pippin asked. 

“Not for the Enemy”, Aragorn said slowly. “Not after a certain point ... but for the orcs that are just following orders, yes.”

“I have a feeling that Frodo and Sam will succeed”, Gimli threw in, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Glóin told me that one Hobbit managed to save the whole Company of Thorin Oakenshield on at least two occasions – add another Hobbit, and the two of them should be invincible.” 

“Indeed – neither before nor after has anyone ever stolen away thirteen prisoners from under my father’s nose.” Legolas smiled. “If Frodo is only half as capable as Bilbo Baggins, then we need not worry.”


	9. Chapter 9

When next they spoke of Gimli’s secret, much had happened. The One Ring had been destroyed. Gandalf had returned. And Aragorn had gone to the Houses of Healing to help. 

It was due to this last circumstance that Gimli and Legolas had made the acquaintance of Éowyn of Rohan, who had entered the battle disguised as a male and slain the Witch-King of Angmar. 

Gimli admired her a great deal, and Legolas thought to himself that likewise, Éowyn would admire Gimli, if she knew the truth. Such as things were, she only saw a Dwarven noble who had never faced any obstacles in his endeavours to become a great war hero. 

It was true that, from what she told him, Gimli had had a great deal of support among Dwarves, as their ways were similar to the Elves of Mirkwood; more dictated by common sense than strange ideas on what women should do or not.  
And still – Gimli had braved the danger of being caught, of being left behind with some condescending words ... or far worse. That Éowyn should not know all that, that she should think of Gimli as one who had had it easy ... it irked Legolas. 

They had just parted from Éowyn in the gardens of the Houses of Healing, when Legolas noticed that something was amiss with Gimli. Her face was pale and there was sweat on her forehead. 

“What is the matter with you?”, he asked quietly. 

“Nothing”, she replied – then bowed forward and returned her most recent meal to the earth.

“Hold my hair, please”, she asked as she struggled to do so herself, and Legolas complied immediately. 

Under other circumstances, he would have been overjoyed at the invitation, but as of now, it was a mere matter of practicality. 

“That does not seem like nothing”, he said, when he handed her his handkerchief so that she might wipe the worst off her beard. 

“My apologies. By nothing I mean that it is nothing to worry about. I knew it would happen eventually, and am glad it is only now.”

“Ah?” 

“Are we alone?”

Legolas scanned the surroundings. There were some birds in the trees, and in some distance, the White Lady of Rohan was walking with Faramir – those two would not pay attention. He smiled. “It is safe to talk.”

“You see” Gimli mumbled, wiping her beard. “I took those herbs to prevent my monthly bleeding. Didn’t dare stop using them until just yesterday.”

“A withdrawal effect?”

“Quite clever, but no. It’s just that I took them too long already. The substance builds up in the body, and apparently, it has hit the limit now. One day less, and I might have been spared. In a way, the whole hassle in Lórien was a blessing in disguise.”

“You would have felt the side effects earlier had you been able to continue taking the herbs that day.” That made sense. “You did not dare take them while the guards were watching us?”

“Aye. Elves and plants, you know what people say. I figured the risk was too great and I should rather risk the bleeding.”

“I always thought you chewed tobacco.” Legolas smiled. “But then, you never let me see what exactly it was you were chewing.” He did not, in fact, know of any such herb, probably because it had no uses among his people. 

Gimli did not look much better. In fact, now she was holding her stomach with the free hand. 

“Let us go inside”, Legolas suggested. “Ioreth might be able to help you.”

“No – there would be questions. Let us just go back to the palace.”

They had rooms there, but Legolas preferred to spend time in the Houses of Healing, as the Steward, Denethor was not pleasant company, and his rule seemed to make the whole place gloomy, in a way that reminded Legolas uncomfortably of home. It was not comparable, his father was not ... not mad, and not cruel. And yet, the feeling of deep sadness that permeated everything ... 

He could not dwell on those sad thoughts, as Gimli’s state worsened. There was nothing to throw up anymore, but the sound of her dry heaving was discernible enough. “Are you sure you need no healer? Perhaps we should ask Aragorn ...?”

Gimli shook her head. “This is not the Black Breath or something. And I know of no case where someone died – don’t look so shocked! It is safe, really.”

When they arrived at the palace, Gimli’s face was distorted with the pain. Some months ago, Legolas would not even have noticed; with all the beard, Dwarves’ faces were hard to read. Yet now, it was obvious to him. 

Gimli successfully pretended to just be in a bad mood, and all the courtiers hastened to get out of their way. 

The guest room given to her was next to that of Legolas, and much smaller and darker than the rooms of Rivendell. 

Not a good place, all in all, to spend much time. As Gimli would likely have to.

Legolas fetched some water for her to wash her beard in, and on his return found her pacing the room. 

“I feel like I should lie down, but I can’t even sit – I need distraction.”

“Here is water for washing. Shall I sing to you? Will that distract you?”

“A terrible waste of your voice is what it is – but yes. Please do.”

He knew not what to make of that, but dutifully began a fast-paced song in the common tongue. It was about drinking wine, and not what he usually would have chosen to sing to Gimli ... but still ...

There was an excitement he had never felt before while singing. Except when he had sung of Nimrodel ...

It must be so blatantly obvious to Gimli, but she had never mentioned it. Perhaps it was because Dwarves were so different. 

However, in one thing, they were like Elves, and that was in how particular they were about their hair. Many a Man had gotten himself killed or at least close to it, by touching a Dwarf’s beard without consent. 

And yet, Gimli had asked Legolas to hold her hair. While she was throwing up. Not the most romantic of situations ... 

Somehow, they had become friends. Close friends, who might ask each other to hold their hair ... which meant Legolas had no way of figuring out whether she felt for him what he felt for her. Or not. 

A good friendship was a wonderful thing indeed. A good friendship between an Elf and a Dwarf was a miracle. Could he really justify endangering such a friendship for his own selfish desires? 

As Legolas’ voice faltered, Gimli gave up the washing halfway in, and sat down on the bed with a pained expression on her face. “I just want to die”, she whispered. 

“So bad?” Legolas knelt down next to the bed. “Is there anything I can do? Do you want ale or wine?”

“No, that might make it worse”, Gimli muttered. 

“Ah.” Legolas frowned in concentration. Gimli was right to assume that Elves knew more about herbs than Dwarves, in general, but an antidote to something he didn’t know ... “I know! There is a kind of thistle, with white spots on the leaves, and ... you don’t know it, do you?”

She shook her head. “I only read about those herbs I need.”

“This thistle, we use it against all kinds of poisons. Do you think it could be of use? Or might it worsen things, just like you say wine would?”

“Something against poison sounds about right, and there are no recommendations to not eat thistles while ingesting it ... not that Dwarves usually eat thistles ... I would risk it. If it kills me, then so be it.” She looked almost hopeful at the thought. 

“I will be back as soon as I can.”

 

It didn’t take him long to find an old woman who sold herbs at a market stall, and when he described what he was looking for, she nodded. “I believe I have what you look for, Lord Legolas.”

“How ...?”

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, but she gave no answer. Instead, she reached for a bag, placed it before her, and with a wooden spoon put some of its contents into a smaller pouch. “How much will you need?”

“A lot.”

When she handed him the pouch, still open so he could see its contents, he recognized the seeds. She knew her trade well. “How much? Round it up, I am in a hurry.”

“Then hurry, I will find you later”, she said with a friendly nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry. Boromir survived, and everything went a bit differently, which means that Denethor did not commit suicide, and makes life difficult for everyone. Aragorn's coronation is a bit more of a diplomatic issue than it would be if there was no current ruler, so it hasn't taken place yet.   
> Everything that needed to happen so that the good side would win can be assumed to still have taken place, if differently.


	10. Chapter 10

Legolas ran as fast as he could. 

When he arrived at her room, Gimli was curled up into a ball on the bed. 

He knelt down next to her. “Here – I would usually crush them and serve them with wine, but just chewing them very thoroughly should work, too.”

She didn’t hesitate a moment before shoving the thistle seed into her mouth and starting to chew. 

Legolas watched, hoping against all reason the herb would have an immediate effect. “If you had told me that it would lead to this ... I would have helped you. If your secret had been revealed, I would have stood by you, Aragorn would have had to leave both of us behind.”

Gimli swallowed. “Really? You would have given up on the opportunity to be a war hero?”

She seemed genuinely surprised, so surprised that it distracted from the pain that must now be indeed severe. 

“Do not think too highly of me – I never wanted to be a hero. The only temptation the world outside Greenwood has ever held for me was just to see it, to explore.”

“But you didn’t ... you seemed to never have seen Lothlórien before. Why?”

“I felt I couldn’t leave my father alone ...” Which was but part of the truth. “And I ... may be very old, but I have little knowledge of the outside world. I feared I would embarrass myself. As has happened.”

“How do you mean?”

“My offer to help you with your washing ... would not have been made if ...” He felt heat rise to his face again. Had he been more aware of how the bodies of Mortals worked ... and how taboo everything to do with those workings was ... 

“None of this!” Gimli clasped his shoulder. “You did not know! The only reason I wanted privacy was so you wouldn’t find out! And the reason I didn’t want you to find out was that I didn’t trust you. Your offer was kindly meant, as I said then. You need not be ashamed.” Her grasp on his shoulder now was so tight it hurt a bit. 

Gimli let go. “Sorry. The pain – I just –“ She grasped the handle of her axe that was leaned to the bed, and her knuckles went white. “Perhaps ... now ... I would like something to bite on.”

Before Legolas could offer his help, there was a knock at the door. His first impulse was to jump away, but then, he thought better of it. Kneeling next to the bed of his good friend – his very obviously male friend – was nothing to be ashamed of, and acting like it was would only cause suspicion. 

Much as he would like it, they were not lovers, and this not nearly as intimate a moment as he would want it to be. 

“Come in.”

It was Aragorn, Legolas immedately recognized his steps. 

“Gimli? Are you unwell?”

“’tis nothing.”

“I see”, Aragorn replied. “And am glad that Legolas seems to have been able to make you see reason. Legolas? What is the matter with Gimli?”

“He ate something wrong.” He stood up. “War often means one has to ingest things that are less than ideal.”

“Indeed”, Aragorn murmured. He did not seem to quite believe it, and Legolas thought he might suspect something, but apparently, there was something else on his mind that he thought more important. “I come to you mainly to see a friendly face – or two, as it turns out – and for some respite. It grates on my nerves; the way in which the Steward favours his eldest son, and all but detests young Faramir.”

“Aye”, Gimli muttered between almost closed teeth. “’tis horrid.”

“I am unlike my father in many ways”, Legolas reflected. “Yet while he might at times not understand me as well as my siblings, he would never let me feel such ... such scorn.” Were he not well informed of the cruelty of Men, he would not have been able to believe that such a thing was even possible. 

“Even Elrond has oft treated me like his own child, though I grew up under the care of my own mother in Rivendell”, Aragorn added. “That one would treat his own flesh and blood this way ... and young Faramir has much merit, there is nothing about him that might make it hard to love him. Had his mother died in giving birth to him, I might – might – perhaps understand it -”

“That would be dishonouring her sacrifice”, Gimli hissed. 

“So it would be”, Legolas agreed. “Yet it seems, Men are not like Dwarves in this. Or”, he amended “that is to say, the Steward is not. But perhaps his love for Boromir is fortunate, as Boromir’s opinion holds such a sway over him.”

“That is true.” Aragorn sighed. “But were he a more sensible man, he would not have to be persuaded to acknowledge my right to the throne. And Faramir would not suffer like this.”

“If it eases your distress to know – I have reason to think that Faramir might soon have a honour bestowed on him that Boromir cannot even dream of”, Legolas said quietly. 

“A honour? Of what kind?”

So Aragorn was wholly ignorant? “His father may be blind to his virtues, the Lady Éowyn ... is not.”

“You mean to imply ...?” Aragorn’s eyes went wide. “That would be joyous news indeed!”

Legolas had thought it would be. Aragorn had never openly mentioned it, but his low spirits even though he had managed to secure aid from Rohan, had caused some suspicion, and his cool and distant praise of the White Lady of Rohan, tinged with sadness, had led Legolas to conclude that Aragorn’s noble heart suffered compassion for an unrequited love he had unwillingly incited. 

“We should not speak of it openly”, Legolas said quickly “As the blossom that opens to soon may fall victim to a late frost – but I have hope.” He would not have spoken of it were he not very sure, but some element of uncertainty always remained – and while a love that had been declared already would withstand everything, one that had not been acknowledged by those involved, might wither and die if exposed to the meddling of others too early. 

Aragorn nodded. “I shall not speak of it. Thank you for telling me, it easens my mind more than you can know.” His gaze flickered to Gimli. “But I am worried about you, Gimli. Do not let your pride prevent you from seeking help. And ... what exactly did you eat? If someone sells rotten meat, I need to know.”

“That is not it”, Legolas said slowly. “From what I gather, it was more of a questionable decision to ingest some herbs in too high quantities.”

“In order to cover the bad smell of rotten meat?” Aragorn inquired. 

“I know for sure it is not because of bad meat”, Gimli grumbled. “What are the symptoms of that, even?”

“Throwing up, for one.” Aragorn’s gaze wandered towards the bowl next to the bed. “High temperature is another. May I feel your forehead?”

“Legolas may.”

That brought a smile to Aragorn’s face, and, Legolas feared, to his own face as well. He placed a hand on Gimli’s forehead. “I think you do not have to worry about rotten meat being sold in Gondor.” In truth, Gimli’s temperature was higher than usual. Not worryingly so, but enough to be noticeable. 

Aragorn chuckled. “Well, then. I would not have thought I would live to see the day when a Dwarf would place more trust in an Elf than in me.”

“It’s not that”, Gimli grumbled. “You wouldn’t even know what my normal temperature is. Legolas tended to my wounds, I had no fever then.”

“Ah – I took no offence”, Aragorn replied, raising his hands in mock defense. “I am glad that you have become friends, is all.”

 

When Aragorn had left, Legolas listened to his steps until he heard them no longer. Then he turned to Gimli. “Your temperature is not normal. Is that, too, a symptom of ...?”

“Aye. I suppose so. Sweating is, that I know. Legolas ...”

He inclined his head to show he was listening, yet it was a while before Gimli spoke again. 

“Please, stay the night. I feel weak, too weak to lift my axe, and I do not trust the Steward.”

“Of course. I should not like to leave you alone in this state, anyway.”

Gimli gave a grunt of approval. “Would you ... sing again?”

Cruel fate, that made his wishes come true in such a terrible way! “Certainly. What would you like to hear?”

“Something ... calm.”

Something calm. One of Legolas’ favourite songs was one that was mainly about the feeling of being indoors during a thunderstorm. Perhaps Gimli would like it?

At any rate, Gimli did not complain and seemed a bit more relaxed while Legolas sang. 

 

It was close to midnight when she finally fell into a restless sleep. Legolas sat down on the faded carpet on the floor, leant his back to the bedframe, and watched the door.


	11. Chapter 11

When Gimli woke, the light of early dawn coloured Legolas’ golden hair red. She would just have to extend one hand to touch it ... no. After everything Legolas had told her about Elves and their hair ... just no. 

He would not want her to, she told herself once more. No matter how much he loved her as a friend, they would never be lovers. 

“How do you feel?”

Gimli almost jumped off the bed in surprise. “Well. I feel ... well.” She had not even thought of the side effects she ought to be suffering from. “I suppose your remedy works.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

“Thank you for ... I did thank you yesterday, did I?”

“It matters not, I know you feel grateful.” Legolas got up and gave her one of his lovely smiles. “Do you feel like eating something?”

“More than.” With a guilty conscience she recalled that not only had she not eaten anything in the evening, Legolas likewise had not eaten. Granted, sharing a table with Denethor, and witnessing his appalling behaviour towards his younger son, was not pleasant. But food was food. 

Legolas had dashed out of the door before she could apologize, and when he returned he bore a tray laden with bread, cheese, bacon and all kinds of cooked meats. There was also two steaming mugs full of what was probably some kind of herbal tea. 

“I told them you had an upset stomach, and that I would share your fate out of friendship”, Legolas explained. “You are much pitied for not being able to start the day with ale, and I am to remind you that there’s no need to eat out, they are happy to prepare a packed lunch for you.”

“Ah – so you told them my upset stomach was due to eating somewhere else? Good.”

“I fear they would never have forgiven me for implying that there could be something wrong with the food here.” Legolas grinned. “I hope you do not mind the excuse I came up with.”

“No, thank you for coming up with it, I couldn’t think properly at all yesterday.” She had not expected the side effects to be that severe – reportedly, it was as bad as giving birth, so at least now she knew how that felt. 

They ate breakfast in peace, interrupted only by the servant who brought warm water for washing. 

Gimli had just washed her beard properly, combed and braided it anew, when she heard a commotion of sorts. She finished dressing, foregoing the binding of her breasts as she now noticed a somewhat numbed pain that felt like it had been there for ages. It mattered not, if she was caught now, she would be caught with an axe in her hand and Legolas at her side, and she could face anything. 

When she shoved aside the thin sheepskin that covered the window, there was nothing unusual to be seen. The window went out on the street, so there must have been something ...

In the hallway, she met Legolas. “Did you hear?”

“It seems the Lady Èowyn is paying a visit. Come.”

 

The throne room had a gallery, from which one could witness the goings-on inside. The railing was low enough for Gimli to see, thankfully. 

Apparently, Denethor had needed some preparation time, so they were just in time for the audience. Strangely enough, Aragorn was not there. 

However, Legolas and Gimli were not the only ones on the gallery. Boromir sat in a chair close to the entrance they had used, facing the throne, while Faramir was standing at the opposite end, where he had the best view on Èowyn. 

Both Men greeted them with a wink and smile, and Faramir made a gesture to remind them to be silent. 

 

“Why does your brother not come himself?” was the first words Gimli heard from Denethor. Perhaps he had uttered a greeting previously; only Legolas’ Elvish ears would have been able to pick that up. 

“My brother is the King of Rohan. He has much to occupy his time”, the Lady Èowyn replied icily. “And when I said I came to suggest an alliance between our houses, I meant one by marriage.”

“Marriage?” Denethor perked up a bit. Perhaps they had judged him too harshly – perhaps, he had some love for Faramir, after all, and wished him happiness. 

“Such an union would promote friendship between Rohan and Gondor”, Éowyn continued. “If my brother does not marry, your grandchildren might even be in line for the throne.”

Oh. So that was what this was about. Now, Denethor all but grinned. Apparently they had judged him exactly right. 

“Therefore, I hope that you will give your blessing to my marriage to Faramir.” 

“Faramir? You are sister to a king; why content yourself with Faramir? Boromir is unmarried still.”

“And yet”, Éowyn replied, raising her voice that now sounded like fire mixed with ice. “My heart desires Faramir, and Faramir I will have – or no one.”

Now Gimli regretted to not have chosen a position more like Faramir had. Judging from the awe on his face, and from Denethor’s frozen expression, Èowyn’s glare was fearsome indeed. 

“Then my blessing you shall have”, Denethor said after a long time. “I hope you will not regret your choice.”

Gimli cold have strangled him for that last sentence. But it wasn’t worth the effort. Faramir was grinning happily, running out of the door, no doubt to meet Éowyn. 

Boromir smiled as he slowly got up. He had mostly recovered from his injuries, but that he needed to rest a lot was one of the few things on which Faramir and Denethor were of one opinion. 

Only after they had left the gallery did Gimli dare to speak. “Did Éowyn have an understanding with your brother?”

“She had – she well knows his gentle soul, and that he would never have rejected her once it was public. She would not have done this had not all been settled between them. Faramir told me that she planned to elope with him, should father not give his blessing ... and he seemed not averse to the idea.”

Gimli chuckled. “That sounds like her. I congratulate you on the acquisition of such a fine sister in law.”

Legolas inclined his head. “As do I.”

“Thank you! Now, if you will excuse me – I have to tell everyone.”

“And I have to go and settle a debt. Will you accompany me, Gimli?”

“Sure.” Always. 

They parted from Boromir and walked out of the palace gates. 

“Fierce and beautiful is the Lady Éowyn”, Legolas said, and from his mouth it sounded almost like poetry. “And Faramir a happy man.”

“Do you envy him?” If there was any Mortal whom Legolas might desire, perhaps the White Lady of Rohan was the one. Tall and blonde, with a beardless, delicate face, she looked much like an Elf. Her limbs, perhaps, were not as delicate as those of an Elf maiden, but close enough. 

“Do I envy him? Perhaps. Not so much for the love of Éowyn, for she is not the one who haunts my dreams. Yet – a warrior, fierce and strong, passionate in anger as in love!” Legolas sighed. “To hear such a woman say ‘Legolas – or no one!’ – my heart yearns for it.”

“So, there is an Elf maiden then, who haunts your dreams?” The topic had not come up, and Gimli had not dared to ask out of the blue, for fear he might recognize her intentions. Her foolish hopes. “Someone back in Mi- the Great Greenwood?”

“No”, Legolas said softly. 

Damned Elf! Couldn’t he give a clear answer for once? Would it kill him to just say ‘There is no one’ or ‘She’s from Rivendell’, so that Gimli could lay her foolish hopes to rest? But perhaps it was her fault for asking two questions at once. 

“You could not know, but I am long past the age at which my people usually marry.”

Well. That was familiar ground. “You sure don’t look like it.”

Legolas laughed, just like she had hoped. “Yet I am. Such yearnings are ... unfamiliar to me. And I am at a disadvantage, as I have no family near me, whom I might ask for advice.”

“From what I’ve heard, advice of that sort comes timely enough before the wedding night.”

Again he laughed. “You tease me. You know well that is not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” They had arrived at a little park, and Gimli entered without waiting for Legolas’ reply. He would like it there, and it was less crowded than the streets. More suited to a private conversation among friends. 

Legolas sat down under a linden tree, leaning his head against the trunk. “I know not how to ... to court, perhaps, you might call it?”

He was insecure? He? Gimli had to bite back a bitter laugh. 

“That amuses you?”

She shrugged. “Aye. Mind, I am not an Elf, but ... well. You say Elves like beautiful hair.”

“That is so.”

She leaned against the tree opposite his, one whose name Legolas had not yet taught her. 

“Well, in that department, no one could find you lacking.” She hesitated. Was that too obvious? “And I don’t just say that because you hair is damn fine material for sewing wounds.”

A shy smile appeared on his face. “That is good to know. But, I do not know what Mortals desire – yet am rather sure that the lack of a beard ...”

“Don’t fret about it. For Men, it just makes you look younger.”

“I have been mistaken for female”, Legolas reminded her. 

“Aye, and didn’t I have a good laugh at that!”

“You called him a fool, as I recall.”

“So I did. Thing is, you look no more like a female Dwarf than you look like a male Dwarf. It just boggles the mind how he could ... well. I suppose it must be because female Men only grow a very sorry excuse for a beard.” And only those with dark hair grew any at all, apparently. The Lady Éowyn could as well have been an Elf. 

“Probably.”

“So, your love is Mortal then?”

He inclined his head in something that might be confirmation – or not. Accursed Elf!

“If so, I must advise against pursuing this. Your words imply that she is from around here, which means you can have only recently met her. It may not be too late yet – unless, like Luthien, all Elves fall in love at first glance.” Being in love with someone who would die some sixty years after the wedding, and that was if the Elf was lucky ... must be horrible. If he was in love with Gimli, he would at least get some more years ... foolish hope. 

Legolas shook his head. “It is too late.”

After that, Gimli needed some moments to compose herself. “So, that’s what Elves do? Hear someone call them by name and instantly fall in love?”

“Not always.” Legolas sighed. “So, what do Dwarves do, then?”

Why would he want to know? “My parents met at work, became best friends and decided to marry, from what they told me. That seems to be the normal case. There’s also formal courting, which is much more complicated.” 

“How does that work, then?”

“If you find a male Dwarf you meet at a market or celebration or somesuch occasion pleasing to the eye and his manners are to your liking, you inquire for his name, and then send a letter to his colleagues and subordinates.”

“Not to him?”

“You see, we work in mines. Perhaps that promotes more caution than walking among trees. Dangerous down there, you know? So, no, not to him. First one has to find out if he is trustworthy. If the answers – which are strictly confidential and only to be used for that one purpose! – are satisfying, then a formal request for courtship is sent to the Dwarf in question. And then the couple spend time together. If you know someone can be trusted to watch your back because you have been working with him, the inquiries can be skipped.”

Legolas had listened with rapt attention, and nodded slowly. “And what if your request is rejected?”

“I don’t know.” Gimli shrugged. “I heard that rarely happens with formal courtship. To have been picked among a bunch of strangers is a rare honour. And the lengthy inquiry process makes sure the couple are not wholly unsuitable for each other. If a male Dwarf wants to devote himself to his craft, he will tell his colleagues so, and they will answer the inquiries accordingly.”

“I see.” Legolas paused. “Then courtship is always initiated by the female Dwarf?”

“Aye. I heard it gets a bit tricky for those who prefer their own sex, but on the whole, it works smoothly. The logic behind it is that the one who sacrifices more should be the one to pick, as she’s less likely to be rejected, so less hurt feelings.” 

“So it is expected that a couple will have children?”

“Not exactly expected, but it is common enough to base traditions on it.”

“So, if a male Dwarf falls in love with a female work colleague, he can do nothing about it?”

“Not exactly nothing.” Gimli cleared her throat. This was a conversation they probably should not be having. But as a friend, it was her bounden duty to help Legolas. And some of the things that worked for Dwarves would also work for Elves. And all this Elf needed was some more confidence. “You said you hoped to attract some female attention with your hair, back then.”

“I remember.”

And it had worked. Flawlessly. Of course, she couldn’t tell him that. “Well, Dwarves also use beards for that, obviously, and intricate braids are considered the typical course of action. If you see a male Dwarf with very intricate braiding, then you can bet that he’s hoping to get married. That, or he is already married – you wouldn’t recognize the marriage braid, so you have to guess there.”

A hopeful smile appeared on Legolas’ face. “Perhaps I should try that.”

“Frankly, you should try to initiate things. Which Mortal would be presumptuous enough to assume that an Elf wants her?”

“I had not thought of that.” Legolas fell silent for a while. “Beren was rather presumptuous, I suppose.”

“Aye. Had he been a Dwarf, he would not be lauded as hero, that is for sure. Chasing and grabbing ... no, that is not good manners.”

Legolas inclined his head. “Indeed. So, you mean that, being an Elf, I would have to initiate any relationship with a Mortal?”

“I would think it proper, aye. For one, you are not a Dwarf, Men do things differently, and then there’s your immortality.You’d be sacrificing eternal happiness to be with a Mortal. That beats even the pain of childbirth, I’d say.” 

He sighed. “I would never have thought I’d wish I had been born a Dwarf.”

Gimli chuckled involuntarily. “There, there, it can’t be that bad.” 

“Probably not.” He sighed again, then stood up. “Now, as I said, I have a debt to settle.”

“What kind of debt? You didn’t lose any bets, did you?”

“I hardly had time to place any! No, I just didn’t pay for the thistle seeds yesterday, as I was in a hurry and the seller kindly told me to leave and pay later. She knew my name.”

Ah. Was that the one who had stolen his heart? Gimli had been with him most of the time, and never noticed anything, so ... but then, he had talked of a warrior, so perhaps their gazes had met in battle. 

The herbalist turned out to be an old woman, and Legolas behaved normally around her, so probably not she. 

“Is your friend well again?”

“How ...?” Legolas seemed startled. 

The woman smiled. “Why else would you be in such a hurry? There is but one use of this herb that requires such haste, and since you are not a healer, I concluded you must be worried about a friend.”

Gimli grinned. “I am well again, thank you for asking.”

“And you would be Lord Gimli? Ioreth told me all about you.”

“Apparently enough so that you could guess. Aye, it is me. Not many Dwarves here, eh?”

“There are some few, but only one who would be seen with an Elf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with the throne room, because I wanted the protagonists to be able to watch, without being part of the conversation. Éowyn can get this done on her own. (And would have preferred for Faramir to not hear his father's attempts to secure this advantageous match for Boromir instead.)


	12. Chapter 12

Legolas paid a handsome sum, more than enough to settle the debt, and they strolled towards the Houses of Healing next. 

As Gimli had hoped, they met both Éowyn and Faramir in the gardens there. However, Éowyn immediately asked Legolas about some plant she could not identify, and the two walked away, while Gimli was still talking to Faramir. 

“I heard you were unwell yesterday”, Faramir stated. 

“Aye. Aragorn may have told you I ate something wrong. This has nothing to do with the palace kitchens – just in case you thought ...”

“No – no, I would not have thought for a moment that you would have kept something like that from Aragorn. But he was very worried.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You could not have helped it.” Faramir’s gaze seemed to go right through her. Not quite in the way the Lady Galadriel’s had, but it was still unsettling enough. “Or could you?”

“I suppose my sickness can be attributed to my own foolishness. So I could have helped it. But not at the time. Legolas was very kind.” Gimli’s gaze wandered to where Éowyn and Legolas were engaged in conversation. 

“They look strangely similar, do they not?”

Faramir, of course, had noticed. “Aye, I suppose so. The hair, at the very least.”

“And the beauty.”

Did Faramir know? Or didn’t he? And if he didn’t, then what was he implying? “You find Legolas beautiful?”

“Of course. You don’t?”

“I ...” Faramir’s openness had taken her by surprise. She had carefully avoided to ever mention the obvious fact that Legolas was beautiful beyond imagination, as she had thought it was not as obvious to others. And now Faramir came and acted as if it was a matter of course ...

“Some men would probably not say so openly, as they would fear their appreciation of beauty might be mistaken for desire, but I would not have thought you would have such fears – I have heard much talk of your admiration for the Lady Galadriel, and surely, such desire, real or imagined by others, would be much more shameful than one that has as its object an unmarried Elf, regardless of his sex.”

“Some would say otherwise.” 

“That is so. But I had to learn not to care what others think”, Faramir replied, and there was a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

“And that is a virtue”, Gimli agreed. “Bitter as the learning may have been.” 

He knew something. Perhaps ... he seemed convinced that Gimli was male, so the danger was not too great ... “Let us walk; this plant seems to be rather difficult to identify.”

Faramir instantly agreed, which all the more convinced Gimli that Éowyn’s request had just been a way to lure Legolas away. 

When they were far enough away so that Gimli was confident not even Legolas’ sharp ears would be able to overhear their conversation, she lowered her voice. “I am not a fool, Faramir.”

“I never implied that.”

“You know it. How? Was I that obvious?”

“The way you look at Legolas ... no, you are not obvious. I have always had a gift for reading people. But even I was not sure until you admitted it just now.”

“Good. He must never know.”

“You have no hope?”

Gimli shook her head. “Wouldn’t do to burden him with the knowledge, aye?”

“Maybe it would not be such a burden – but I will not tell anyone.”

Had Faramir seen something in Legolas, or was it just wishful thinking, after he had noticed Gimli’s looks?

 

When they returned to where they had stood before, Éowyn and Legolas had finished their conversation and joined them. 

Soon it was lunchtime, and they decided to head back to the palace. Faramir accompanied them, though he obviously did not enjoy the prospect of facing his father. 

 

As it turned out, Denethor did not join them for lunch. Boromir informed them his father claimed to have an headache.

Gimli would have wholeheartedly wished him a headache, but was rather sure it was just an excuse. That, or he had managed to give himself a headache by being angry at Éowyn. 

Lunch was a rather merry affair with a lot of ale. 

Afterwards, Legolas excused himself, with only the most mysterious statements about needing some time alone.

Probably he needed some time to gather his courage ... and then, he wouldn’t want anyone to come along when he confessed his love. 

Since she really didn’t want to sit in her room and wonder what Legolas was doing, Gimli volunteered to join Merry and Pippin on their walk through the city. She well knew that they’d probably do something terribly foolish, embarrassing, or outright dangerous, but it seemed better than the alternative. 

The war had forced them to mature a bit, but their youthful playfulness was pretty much restored by now, and there was a lot to explore. 

It was, at any rate, very distracting to watch them. 

 

Somehow the Hobbits managed to get themselves to pass out drunk before it was even time for dinner. Gimli walked back to the palace with one Hobbit over each shoulder – thankfully, they were rather light. 

After dropping them on their beds, Gimli went to Legolas’ room without even thinking about it. Only after she had knocked at the door did she hesitate. Was he even back by now? Would she interrupt something?

“Come in.” His voice was normal, if a bit gentler than usual. He didn’t sound unhappy ... though with Elves, it was always hard to tell. 

 

The sight to which she was treated was not, as such, inappropriate. Legolas was fully clothed. However, he was obviously in the process of trying to braid his hair. In a very elaborate fashion.

And now she understood really, really well just why braiding hair and beard were such favourites among male Dwarves who wanted to attract female attention. 

Legolas’ hair had always been beautiful, but now, it cascaded down his back in a net of smaller braids, and she could look at it forever and not grow tired .... and she was staring. 

“What do you think? Will it look ... pleasing when it is ready?”

She swallowed. “Certainly. Do you want some help?”

“If you would?” He smiled as if she had single-handedly provided the solution to all his problems. “This braid here should be connected with that one ...” he explained. “I just can’t see them, so it is difficult.”

“For not being able to see them, you got very far!” She looked for something to step on, and, finding nothing but frail chairs, kicked off her boots and went on the bed. “Come a bit closer?”

It was very bitter, to finally have her hands in his hair, and know she would never do so again. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she connected the braids according to Legolas’ instructions. 

He worked swiftly, and only asked her for help again to secure the whole hairdo. 

“How come you are so good at this?” she asked, while she tied the ends together with a delicate piece of leather that would vanish under his golden hair. “Braiding your own hair, I mean?”

“I have been both adult and unmarried for a long time.”

“Oh.” Elves and hair. How could she have forgotten?!

“When you asked me to hold your hair yesterday, I concluded that Dwarves are more practical about that”, he added softly. 

So he wasn’t offended. Good.“Aye. Asking a close friend for help is normal. We are much more particular about our beards, as it is easier to see what you are doing, there.”

She sat down on the bed and put her boots back on. “Do you think the thistleseeds will help against hangovers? I brought two very drunk Hobbits back.”

“It helps against all poisons, so I suppose it will.”

“Good. I shall ask the kitchen staff to crush some of it and add it to the Hobbits’ morning tea.”

She went back to her own room to comb her hair and beard and wash the sweat of the day off before dinner.


	13. Chapter 13

Apparently, Denethor had recovered from his headache. When Gimli entered the dining room, he was talking to Faramir in an angry voice, though she couldn’t make out words. Boromir looked like he wanted to get a word in, but couldn’t. 

Aragorn was there, as were Sam and Frodo. 

“Where is Legolas?” Frodo wanted to know. 

“He said he needed a bit more time.” Gimli shrugged and sat down at her usual place, her back to the wall, facing the entrance door. 

She had just sat down when the door was opened and Legolas appeared. Gimli stared. The hair, she had expected. But now he was also wearing silvery grey robes, that contrasted perfectly with his golden hair, and ... and ... perfection embodied. It was just ...

Legolas sat down opposite her, of course, he always did. 

The unusal sight startled even Denethor enough so that he fell silent. 

 

“Legolas?”, Sam said finally. “Is ... is there something we should know?”

“Oh? No, I do not think ...”

“Some celebration?” Frodo ventured. 

“Have you not heard that Faramir is engaged to the Lady Éowyn?” Legolas inclined his head in a questioning fashion. “We do have cause for celebration.”

“Oh. Of course!” Sam relaxed. 

As if they had planned this, Aragorn stood. “When we arrived, it seemed all hope was lost. Yet now, spring has come, and with it, new hope. Your engagement marks the beginning of a happier time.”

He spoke at length, of spring and love and peace among enemies, and Gimli could have sworn he looked at her and Legolas while he did. 

When Aragorn finally raised his goblet, toasting to “young love”, Gimli felt like he had seen through her. So, Faramir and Aragorn. Who next? Nopefully neither Pippin nor Merry. 

Legolas only smiled, tilting his head just so that she got an even better view of the intricate braids in his hair ... it could not be intentional. It could not. But that accursed Elf would be the death of her. 

They then drank to Faramir’s health, and Denethor looked like he might storm out of the room any moment. 

Gimli didn’t look at him much, though. Legolas was much more fascinating. The way his hair gleamed in the candlelight ... had he woven some metal into it? He could not, could he? She would have noticed ... but then, he had been alone for a time ...

She was so fascinated by it, that she hardly noticed Denethor leaving. And at some point, Faramir and Boromir must have left, too. And the hobbits.

Only when Aragorn stood, his movements distracting her for a moment from the way the light shimmered on Legolas’ robe, Gimli realized that not only had everryone else already gone to bed, but it was late into the night. 

Certainly too late for Legolas to pay a visit to his love. 

“Legolas?”

“Yes?”

“Didn’t you ... want to ... go somewhere?”

He smiled. “Is that your way of suggesting I have had enough wine and should go to bed?”

Accursed Elf! He knew exactly what she was talking of! But apparently he had decided to be a coward. “If you choose to understand it that way.”

“Well. Then I shall choose to do so. Will you walk with me?” Legolas stood, gently swaying like a slender tree in the breeze. He had really had more than enough. 

“Probably should”, Gimli muttered and also got up. “You are drunk.”

Even in that state, Legolas was graceful. His speech was not slurred, and even though he seemed unstable on his feet, he never swayed in one direction so much that Gimli would have felt the need to catch him. 

“It’s a pity”, she remarked when they had almost arrived at their rooms. “You must have worked hours on your hair.”

“Why is it a pity?”

“Well, it is wasted, isn’t it? When you wake up tomorrow, it will be rather disheveled.” It would still look gorgeous, but probably not quite up to his standards. 

“You saw it”, Legolas stated with calm certainty. 

“We did, and I am sure Faramir was happy that you put so much effort into your attire for the celebration of his engagement, but I thought you ... after we talked about courting ...”

“It served its purpose.” Legolas seemed to be gazing at something unseen, an eerie smile on his face. 

Elves! “If you think so. Well, here’s your room. Good night.”

She waited until she had seen him collapse on his bed before she quietly closed the door. 

After staring at the door for a while, she turned to go to her own room, only to find someone lingering in the shadows close to it. “Aragorn. What are you doing here?” 

“I am worried about Legolas and had hoped you could provide some insight.”

“Worried? He’s a bit drunk, but nothing a good night of sleep wouldn’t fix.”

Aragorn pushed himself away from the wall. “The problem is more long-term, I am afraid.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You haven’t noticed, then?”

“What should I have noticed?” Perhaps she would finally learn when exactly Legolas had fallen in love, and with whom, and why he didn’t just talk to her. 

“It is easy to miss, I admit, since all Elves are very meticulous with their grooming, but ... I noticed first after we left Lothlorien. He combed his hair more often than necessary.”

“You mean, like, at all?” Because it was always immaculate. “It’s not as if it needs any grooming.”

“Elven hair does not need much care, but it needs some. No, that is not it.“

“Spit it out. Do you think he caught lice?”

Aragorn gave a short, barking laugh. “No. That would not worry me. What I think is that he might have fallen in love.”

“Oh?”

“I grew up among the Elves of Rivendell, and have observed this often enough to see a pattern. Elves are attracted to beautiful hair, maybe moreso than Men, and as a result, when an Elf falls in love, he will try to show off his hair. Combing it is a way of drawing attention to it. They seem to do it almost without noticing.”

That fit seamlessly into everything Legolas had told her. “Oh. And you noticed him doing it after Lothlórien.”

“Yes. I thought, since you hold his confidence, you might know more. He has braided his hair tonight, from which I conclude that the one he tries to attract is near. But I have heard of no Elves arriving here ...” Aragorn cleared his throat. “Well. Do you know anything?”

“I might have encouraged it.” Gimli shrugged. “He asked me for advice, and I told him that Dwarves braid their hair for such purposes, so ... but I got the impression that his love is mortal and he would go to see her tonight. Seems he didn’t manage to work up the courage to do so. What a waste.”

“Maybe not. You seemed to enjoy the sight.Did it remind you of the Lady Galadriel?” Now, Aragorn’s tone was lighter. He was teasing her. Did he know? But no, he was not cruel enough to tease her with a love doomed to fail. 

“I was just trying to figure out if he braided gold into it. Seemed like it”, Gimli muttered. Had she been so obvious?

“That mystery I can solve. He did, he asked Faramir for permission to use some that was part of an embroidery that was thrown away.”

Gimli shook her head. What an effort, and all wasted. 

“Good night.”

 

Aragorn vanished back into the shadows, and left Gimli utterly confused. After Lórien. Legolas had met no mortals in Lórien. 

Well. 

No new ones. 

And he had combed his hair more frequently ... or at least she had seen him do it more often ...

It was, Gimli thought, extremely unlikely, and she was just making a fool of herself. Regardless. She just had to know. 

So she knocked at Legolas’ bedroom door. 

“Yes?” 

She decided that must be an invitation, and opened the door. Legolas was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Fully clothed, just the same as he had been when she had left.   
He must be very drunk. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t remember anything much the next day. 

She approached the bed. “Legolas? Can we just for a moment pretend that you are a Dwarf?”

“Oh?” His eyes went a bit wide. “Certainly.”

“In which case it would be absolutely appropriate for me to tell you that ...” Why was this so difficult? 

“Yes?” His expression was one of surprise, but whether he was pleased or scandalized, she could not make out.

“I like you.” No, that wasn’t quite right. “I like you a lot.” Not strong enough, still. “In fact, I like you so much I would allow you to touch my beard.” There. That had not been so hard, now, had it? 

“Oh!” He raised his hand. “Right now? No; I am dreaming. I drank too much.” And he let his hand fall to his side again. 

“So, this would be a dream, not a nightmare?”

“Why would you ask that, dream-Gimli? Have you not seen my smile when you asked me for a strand of my hair, to carry next to your heart? Have you not noticed my delight when you asked me to sing for you? Have you not chided me for being too subtle in my attempts to attract your attention?”

Oh. He had dreamt of her before. She felt a bit dizzy with the shock of it. Her heart raced. He ... loved her? And now he thought she was but a dream? 

Well. She had always known this sleeping with open eyes had to be unhealthy somehow. Apparently, his ability to tell apart reality and dreams was not the best. 

Should she try to wake him up? Or better not? What if she did something wrong and it damaged his mind in some way?

“Perhaps I am real”, she suggested. 

“Perhaps”, he agreed, and a shy smile appeared on his face. “I like the thought. But I have been mistaken too often. In the morning, I will wake up, and it will all be as it was before.”

“It need not be.” It was a stupid idea. But she could see no immediate harm in it, so ... “Would you like to have a courting braid in your hair?”

“You will braid my hair?”

“I will.” 

He reached behind his head and pulled one of the small braids out of his elaborate braiding. That was Elves for you – too drunk to tell dream from reality, but still able to undo a braid that would probably hold for days if left alone. “Will that be enough?”

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Aye, that should work.” He would find it dangling at the side of his face in the morning. No way to not notice it. 

It was more difficult to make the elaborate weaving stay fixed in his hair, as it was so thin and smooth, but Gimli tried until she succeeded, and then put one of her own hair clasps in to secure the braid. That should do the trick, even if the braid didn’t hold, he was bound to notice the clasp in his bed. 

“There. Now every Dwarf will see that you are spoken for.”


	14. Chapter 14

Legolas woke up with a slight headache. He had drunk too much wine, and wine of too low quality, at that.   
And it hadn’t even helped him. He had still cowardly shied away from ... well, from being utterly inappropriate and much too forward, but Gimli herself had told him that subtlety would get him nowhere, because he was an Elf ... but he had dreamt that she had come to him, and told him to pretend that he was a Dwarf, and ... and she had offered that he might touch her beard, and he had not done so, because he was not sure she was real. Or perhaps just the invitation was not real. That would have been terrible. 

Also, she had braided his hair. He sighed happily at the memory. Her rough hand had once brushed his face while she had worked, and it had been the most wonderful thing ... 

Of course, the braid would not be there. His hair would be ... what was that?

Hand trembling, he lifted the metal to his eyes. It was a hair clasp, such as Gimli wore. Attached to a braid of unfamiliar making. 

Could it be? Could it really ...? But he had been drunk, perhaps he had asked for this, perhaps his dreaming mind had made something out of it that was not there ... 

He got up and undressed, washed, then put on his everyday clothes before he went to knock at Gimli’s door. 

“Aye?”

Legolas felt his hand tremble as he pushed the door open. 

Gimli seemed the same as every day, except that she wore only a shirt and trousers. It must have been a dream, at least part of it. 

“Good morning! Are you well? You drank a lot yesterday.”

“A good morning it is indeed”, Legolas replied. “I only have the slightest of headaches. Do ... do you happen to know how this came to be?” He lifted the braid with the hair clasp in it, one, he noticed now, was missing from Gimli’s hair. 

“How much do you remember?”

“I remember that you led me to my bed, then left ... and that you then entered my room again.”

“Aye, that I did. What more?”

“That ... that you suggested we pretend that I am a Dwarf.”

“Aye. And after that?”

“After that, you ... did I not dream it, then? You said I may touch your beard?”

“I did.”

His heart beat faster. Could it be? “And then you braided my hair, and told me ... told me ...” What if he had only dreamt that part? He felt heat creep up his neck and face. 

“That it would show any Dwarf that we are courting? Aye, I did.” She strode forward and Legolas knelt down so she could ... hug him, it turned out. 

“You ... you did say you would advise against me falling in love with a Mortal ...” Legolas said quietly. If she loved him, then what could she have meant?

“Aye, and you told me it was too late.” She pulled him closer. “My expected lifespan is longer than those of Men, but still ... too short, much too short.” 

“It is too late. My heart has chosen”, he whispered, leaning his head against her shoulder. It still felt so dreamlike, so impossible. “Will you braid my hair anew? I wish to have only your braid in my hair, and nothing to distract from it.”


	15. Chapter 15

Finally holding him in her arms felt so good, so right. She could have stayed like this forever. But then, his offer ... his very tempting offer ... “Aye. Here, sit next to the bed.”

She took his hair in her lap and started to unravel his braiding, slowly and carefully. It was pure bliss to touch his hair, and see his relaxed and happy face ... 

Gimli took her time unraveling the braids, then combed the hair with her own comb, which was not as fine as Legolas’ own, but that didn’t matter as his hair hardly needed any combing, anyway. “I will put the braid on the back of your head, and leave a portion of your hair unbraided, as you usually wear it.”

“Yes”, Legolas sighed. “Oh yes, please.” He had closed his eyes and there was a peace on his face that had not even been there when he had been drunk. 

She had just finished the braid, when there was a knock at the door, and a moment later, two Hobbits stumbled into the room. “You!” Two small accusing fingers were pointed at Gimli. “You made us sleep through dinner!”

She shrugged. “What should I have done? You were passed out. Don’t drink so much, next time. And anyway, it is time for your people’s first breakfast, isn’t it? You can eat now.”

“But we missed everything!” Pippin cried. “Finally Aragorn does something to teach this miserable Steward his place, and we miss it!”

Legolas rose. “Such are the dangers of drinking”, he said with a smile. “Though surely, Frodo and Sam will tell you everything worth knowing. You do know that Éowyn and Faramir got engaged, do you not?”

“Yes”, Merry admitted. “But we didn’t get to see your hair.”

“My hair? Why, you can still see it.”

“It was braided differently yesterday. Sam told us all about it.”

“And now it is braided differently once again”, Legolas replied gently. “There, have a look.” He turned his head. 

The Hobbits were silent for a while. “And what is that for?” Pippin asked at last. “There’s no celebration today, is there?”

Legolas smiled. “Gimli? Would you explain?”

What now? They should have spoken about it earlier. Now, there was a decision to make – and she would not hide her love for Legolas.

“This, young Hobbit, is a courting braid.” She stepped next to Legolas and took hold of the end of the braid. “There, this strand that forms a loose loop and looks like a mistake in the braiding, that’s an old family tradition. So, every dwarf who hails from Erebor will know that Legolas is my beloved, and woe betide anyone who harms him.” Usually, it was used to let people know who was spoken for so there was no need to ask and embarrass oneself, but with Legolas, the danger that a Dwarf tried to harm him was probably much greater than the one that another Dwarf would try to court him. Probably. Though it was difficult to remember exactly why other Dwarves might not find him attractive. 

“Beloved? You ...?” Pippin stared at them with his mouth open. 

“You did act something like an old married couple”, Merry said at last. 

“Denethor might not like this”, Legolas said slowly. “For strange and alien are the marriage customs of Men.”

“Hobbits are nothing like that”, Pippin assured them. “We are sensible folk, us. I mean, it is not exactly common ... that is to say I never heard of ...”

Merry elbowed him in the side. “What he wants to say is that we are very happy for you.”

“Well, that is a relief.” Gimli grinned. That had gone better than expected. Aragorn had grown up among Elves, so he would not oppose what he thought to be a love between two males. Frodo and Sam would likely follow the lead of their friends. So there was only Boromir left. Boromir ... he had changed. She did not quite know what to make of this Boromir, whether it was only a temporary change brought about by regrets, or a genuine one ...

When the Hobbits had left, Gimli looked at Legolas. “I am a bit surprised, actually, that no one noticed – not even now.” She had again foregone constricting her breasts, and while the many layers of clothing usually mostly disguised her shape, she was now wearing only a shirt. 

“The eye only sees what the eye wants to see.” Legolas shrugged. “I do not even want to say what I thought of you during the first weeks of our journey, for I am deeply ashamed that I was so wrong. Falling for your disguise was the least of my mistakes.”

Gimli nodded. “And I only wanted to see the worst of you, too, so there is no need to be ashamed.”

“And yet I am, and I fear my thoughts were worse than yours. But no more of that now; there is something else I wish to discuss.Will you reveal the truth to our friends before you return home? The Lady Éowyn would understand, of that I am sure.”

“Éowyn ... yes, I daresay, she should know, and neither she nor Faramir would judge me.”


	16. Chapter 16

On the way to the Houses of Healing, Gimli suddenly stopped walking. “Wait here”, she told Legolas. “I will be back immediately. Just thought of something I’d like to buy.”

“I can come with you?”, he offered., uncertain whether his company was wanted. 

“No, no, it’s supposed to be a surprise for you.”

Ah. “Then I shall wait here.” A surprise! When he had everything he wanted! Yet perhaps, he would be surprised, as that was her intent. 

He watched the people. Since the news of the coronation had spread, more and more nobles travelled to Minas Tirith to be there on the day. Legolas had even seen some Dwarves. 

As he saw out of the corner of his eye a movement, he stepped aside, then spun around. There stood a Dwarf, who had just lost balance. His weapons were at his belt, but it looked a lot like he had tried to kick Legolas. 

“Hey, leaf ear! What do you think you’re doing?”

Legolas stared at him. “Are you talking to me?”

“Do you see another moss eater here?”

On a different day, Legolas might have been angered. This day, though, he felt only amusement. What creative insults! “What do you want, Master Dwarf?”

“Just give you some much needed advice.” The Dwarf glared at him. “Don’t ever steal a Dwarf’s style of braiding ever again.”

Ah. That was what this was about. Legolas could almost muster some sympathy. “You are the rudest Dwarf I have ever met, which means something.” After all, he had met Thorin Oakenshield. “A piece of advice to you; you should make sure who you are talking to before threatening people.”

“Don’t worry, Elf, I will not test my axe on you. I shall instead have my revenge by telling you the meaning of the braid in your hair.”

“Revenge?” Legolas smiled. Now, that was going to be interesting. “A rather pitiful revenge, then, but I shall not complain, for I would not like any blood spilled in this city.”

“The braid in your hair tells every Dwarf who wants to know that you are being courted by a Dwarf.”

“Ah.” Well, it was certainly nice to have it confirmed. “I am glad you noticed. Now, can you also tell me the name of that Dwarf?” He turned his head to give the stranger a good view at his hair. 

“Aye, that mistake you made in braiding it proclaims that the one courting you is a descendant of Farin. If you were a Dwarf, and this a genuine braid, then I would say ... Gimli, son of Glóin. And that’s what everyone who sees you will think.”

Legolas beamed. “Your knowledge, Master Dwarf, is amazing, yet your wisdom is lacking. If I were you, I would not be so quick to offer insult to one wearing the braid I wear.”

“Why would I not offer insult to an Elf who ...”

“Because that Elf”, Gimli interrupted, walking towards them. “Is my Elf, as is very obvious. Now? What do you have to say in your defense?” 

Legolas laughed as the strange Dwarf’s eyes widened. 

“A misunderstanding, meleth nîn. He seems to have thought I had seen the braid somewhere, and copied it.” Her anger on his behalf flattered him, yet he would not like to be the cause of a fight. 

“Well. Then I will let that go, this once.” 

As it turned out, Gimli knew the other Dwarf. After some brief introductions, she told him (or her?) to go to an alehouse and drink to their health. “That will hopefully put your thoughts in order again.”

When they walked away, Legolas was still almost laughing. 

“He’s a decent sort, but was never the brightest candle on the table”, Gimli commented. 

“So it seems. He should be careful. My father would ... ah, but I must admit, he would never have attacked my father in that way.”

“Since your father would never wear anything that looks remotely Dwarvish? Aye, that makes sense. Still, it is not wise these days to go around insulting people who look like simple rangers.”

“Indeed, no.” And he had to laugh again. Fortunately, Gimli so far didn’t seem to mind his unusual bouts of mirth. 

“What do those Elvish words you used mean?”

“Meleth nîn? It means ‘my love’. I hope, this is not too forward? We have long been friends ...” 

“... but not lovers? Aye. It is alright. You could not be dearer to my heart than you already are.”

Legolas felt like he was walking on soft forest moss, and as though there was birdsong and the rustling of leaves, even though he was in a city built of stone. His love was here, and all was well. 

 

Éowyn, they were told, was busy, but as soon as the servant had told them so, their friend rushed towards the doors. “Not so very busy that I could not make some time for my friends”, she stated. “Come.”

Having recovered from her wounds she had moved rooms and now lived in a small chamber, like any other apprentice healer might. There she led them, and as soon as she had closed the door, she turned towards Legolas. “I like what you did with your hair.”

He smiled. “Thank you, but it is not I who did anything with it. Gimli braided it.”

“And secured it with one of his clasps.”

The Lady Éowyn shot him a questioning look, and Legolas inclined his head in affirmation. “Yes. We are courting.”

If Legolas had had any doubts about her reaction, they melted away under her radiant smile. “Sit, my dear friends, make yourselves comfortable. So, Faramir was right ...”

“He was”, Gimli agreed and sat down on the bed, pulling Legolas down next to her.“However, I have been keeping another secret from you.”

“You have?” Éowyn’s eyes still shone with happiness. “If it is as harmless as that of your regard for Legolas, I shall forgive you.”

“Ah, well. Not exactly of the same kind. You see, the two of us have a lot of things in common ... Dernhelm.”

Éowyn frowned. “You do not mean to say ... you did tell me that Dwarf women grow beards, but ...”

“Aye. And I have a rather nice one, if I say so myself.” Gimli patted her beard. 

Legolas managed to keep his laughter down to a soft chuckle. Éowyn’s face was priceless. 

“The entire journey? How did you ...and only Legolas knew?”

“He, and the Lady of Lórien. I had it easier than you, make no mistake – I had herbs to prevent the monthly bleeding, and my mother helped convince Elrond I was just the Dwarf for the task.”

“Glóin is ...?” Legolas stopped talking when he realized he should have suspected long before. 

“It is not a secret that is for me to tell”, Gimli said, but smiled. “I’ll just say as much; it is more sensible to track lineage by those who are actually there when the child is born.”

“I should like to know more about those herbs”, Éowyn replied. “Gimli – to travel with an army is one thing, but with such a small company!”

“I had to make sacrifices. Couldn’t exactly wash that much when we weren’t somewhere with rooms. And my breasts are still sore from my keeping them flat all this time, though I haven’t bound them for a while.”

Éowyn winced. “I am glad I could cover all with a suit of armour. But you would not have needed – I mean, your breasts are not that noticeable -” She interrupted herself, seeming embarrassed.

Was it because breasts were not a suitable topic for conversations with males present? There were many taboos Mortals had that he was not entirely sure he understood. But before Legolas could offer to leave, she spoke again: 

“I am sorry – I know – I have always felt lucky for my flat build, I meant no insult.”

Gimli shook her head. “No worries, friend. So, then, most Men value a bigger bosom? I had wondered – Dwarves never have so much in that department as I have seen on some women here, and I was wondering whether they used ... well, stuffing.”

Éowyn relaxed visibly. “No, there are women whose bosom is really so large that they can hardly even run without being hindered by it – and I am glad that is not so with me. The very thought of wearing some garment that constricts them ...” She shuddered. “However, there are some who pretend to have more than they really do. It is considered attractive by many.”

“Weird”, Gimli commented. “I am glad Elves are more sensible.”

“They are?”

“I have heard of no Elf who could not dance and run through the woods unhindered”, Legolas said , carefully choosing his words lest he give offence. “And of no Elf, who would desire such. Most look for beautiful hair ... of which Gimli has plenty.”

“So then Dwarves and Elves are more similar to each other than Men – who would have thought?” Éowyn laughed. “Though perhaps not all.”

“Aye.” Gimli nodded. “Some Men apparently know what is important. Well, Faramir does.”

Éowyn laughed. “Faramir is a jewel among men – and aptly named. I am not sure what attracted him to me at first, but it certainly was not my bosom. Speaking of which – you said your breasts are sore. I can give you something for that.”

“It would be much appreciated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fiction, so I described the side-effects from binding your breasts as somewhat less severe than they actually are/can be, as that is what fits my plot. In real life, they can be way worse and more long-term than just some pain.


	17. Chapter 17

At lunch, Legolas’ new hairstyle was noticed. All he said was: “I wanted to try a new style. Gimli braided it for me.”

Aragorn knew what that meant to an Elf, so his smile was no surprise. Frodo suspected, judging from the way his eyes widened. Apparently Merry and Pippin had not told him yet. Sam smiled, but said nothing. 

Boromir looked baffled, but likewise didn’t say anything, though Legolas could see a warning on Faramir’s face, so that silence was probably thanks to him. 

Denethor, on his part, grumbled something about grown warriors braiding each other’s hair ‘like little girls’. 

Aragorn must have noticed Legolas’ questioning look, as he cleared his throat. “It is one of the rather strange customs of Men that only our young females are allowed to braid each other’s hair in order to try out new braiding styles. For adult women and males of any age, braiding anyone’s hair but their own is absolutely taboo – though I have to admit I have not the faintest idea as to the origins of that taboo.” He spoke earnestly, like a scholar explaining the particular properties of some herb, but Legolas could see the mirth in his eyes. “I hope, being of superior age and wisdom, you will forgive my race this little peculiarity, Legolas.”

“Of course”, Legolas answered with all the gravity he could muster. 

Merry and Pippin fought against the laughter, but some quiet chuckling was audible. 

When they went back to their rooms, Aragorn joined them. 

“You should not treat Denethor so”, Legolas warned. “It is not diplomatic and might turn him against you.”

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. “The way he insulted you angered me. But perhaps, your wrath is not so easily stirred today.”

Legolas smiled. 

“And neither is yours, Gimli, which perhaps is somewhat more surprising.”

“Ah, well. That braid in Legolas’ hair is one that an underage Dwarf should not even know how to braid. Not that there’s something wrong with little girls. Many a fearsome warrior started out as little girl.”

“The Lady Éowyn certainly did.” Aragorn smiled. “So only Dwarves who are of age know such braiding?”

“Aye. It’s not banned knowledge, but what use could a little girl have for a courting braid?”

Aragorn’s smile widened. “Ah. I knew what it means to an Elf to let another who is not kin braid his hair, but I admit I did not know about your people’s customs.”

“We don’t exactly walk around telling other people about it.” Gimli shrugged. “So, you approve?”

“I long suspected something, ever since Legolas started combing his hair so often. And while I do not know much of the customs of Dwarves, I could not help but see how you watched his combing.”

Watched? “You noticed that ...?” Legolas had not even noticed himself, much as he had hoped ... he had seen her gaze linger, but for what reason, he had not been able to make out. 

“I did. But I was not entirely sure, and did not want to interfere. In the end, you worked it out yourselves.”

“No” Gimli grumbled. “I would never have dared ... if you hadn’t told me what this hair combing means for Elves ...”

“Ah, yes. That. I apologize for revealing your feelings without your consent, Legolas, but after you put so much effort into your braiding, I thought it cruel not to give Gimli a hint.”

Legolas inclined his head. “No need to apologize. I felt I was being very forward, and thought there was no hope at all when Gimli did not react to that.”

“Forward? You weren’t nearly forward enough to get it through my thick skull.” Gimli laughed. “No, you did well, Aragorn. Now, before you go back to your very important coronation preparations, can you tell me where one can take a bath here? I’ve seen some public bathhouses, but ...”

Aragorn nodded. “I noticed that Dwarves prefer to have more privacy. There is no public bathhouse I could recommend, but the palace has its own – I gather you do not want to bring it up with Denethor, or order his servants around?”

“Aye, that is so. Don’t like the man and am not keen on talking to him, but filling a bath is a lot of work, not a small favour I could ask of the servants as a guest. Now, if your kingly self might drop a hint or two ...”

“I shall see what can be done.”

“You can tell the Steward that I smell like a boar and you can’t endure the stench, for all I care”, Gimli said. “Whatever is necessary.”

Legolas froze. Those were his words. His words, said so long ago – was it coincidence, or had Gimli thought they had been intentional insult? 

Aragorn left, and Gimli turned to Legolas. “Why are you blushing? I haven’t even gotten around to suggesting that you join me in the bath.”

“I ...” He swallowed. “I wondered why you would think you smell like a boar.”

“Oh, that.” Her features softened. “It is long forgiven. Truth be said, I admire you for insulting me in so stealthy a way that no one else noticed.”

“It was not meant – I – I truly had just noticed a smell ...” No wonder Gimli had been so hostile! “I apologize.”

“It’s alright. No hard feelings.”

Only then did Legolas realize what Gimli had just said. “You intended to suggest that I join you in the bath?”

“Aye. Would be a waste of a good water, otherwise. If the bathtub is big enough for two ... that is, only if you want to. You said nudity isn’t such a big deal for Elves, so ...”

“With you, that might be different.” Perhaps. There were a lot of new feelings. “Yet I should like to join you.”


	18. Chapter 18

When they arrived in the hallway their rooms were in, a servant already waited for them, to tell them that a bath was being prepared. 

“That was fast”, Gimli commented. 

“We have been given orders to treat you as guests of honour.” 

Legolas smiled. “You overheard our conversation, did you not?”

“Someone did.”

What? “How much did you – they – hear?”

“I know only of your desire for a bath. There is no need to worry. We keep our master’s secrets. And by extension, yours.”

Gimli was not so sure that she trusted them, but it could not be changed now – and, after all, she had been rather careless, anyway. 

 

The palace bathrooms turned out to be almost as good as she was used to from home. There were no hot springs, but a pool made of glazed tiles had been filled with water. The walls were covered in tiles glazed with different colours, making up the picture of a white tree. 

Inside the pool, the tiles were blue, apparently to give the impression of a natural lake. 

After securely bolting the door, Gimli started to undress. She had just pulled the shirt over her head when she noticed Legolas’ gaze.  
Weird. She had never seen lust on an Elf’s face, but would have thought it’d look different. “Like what you see?”

“No.” Legolas shook his head. “You ...”

She frowned. He had talked of deep and irrevocable love. Could he find her so ugly, then? Perhaps it would be for the best ... still, it stung. 

“When you said your breasts were sore, I had not thought they would look like this”, Legolas finally said. 

Gimli looked down. Oh. The bruises had developed interesting colours, yellow, blue, green, everything was there. “Aye, I suppose it looks pretty bad.” She had gotten used to it, on the rare occasion that she had dared remove the tightly laced, layered linen during their journey. 

“That you should have to suffer so, just because ...”

“Don’t fret, love. It can’t be changed now.”

 

Legolas nodded, his throat too tight to talk. He felt sad, and angry. Gimli should have been able to join the quest as a female Dwarf. Oh, he could imagine Boromir’s protests, much as the Man had protested anything that went against his preconceived ideas of what was good for Gondor.  
True, everyone had accepted the Lady Éowyn, but that was after she had more than proven her worth, and was wounded anyway, so there was no danger of her participating in a battle anytime soon. 

None of the Fellowship would have done any worse than refusing to accept a woman into the group. Of that, Legolas felt certain now. Yet Gimli had had no way of knowing it, back then. Elrond was wise, but he was not the Lady Galadriel. 

When his eyes focused again, Gimli had climbed into the pool. It was so full that the water went up to her neck. “Are you not comfortable with undressing in front of me?”, she asked. 

“Oh? No – I was just ... thinking.” Though now that she had mentioned it, he felt some insecurity. Would she find him beautiful? 

“Ah. Thought so. The shock I got when I woke up and got an eyeful of naked Elf ...”

“I never undressed on the journey?” He stepped out of his breeches and lowered himself into the water with more haste than he perhaps usually would. “Not in front of you, that I remember.”

“Just your upper half. Still, bad enough. I wake up and think of no evil and then I see ... well.” She closed her eyes and leant against the tiled wall of the pool. “My first thought was of alabaster, with streaks of blue and a pink tinge, and I wanted to touch such beauty ... and then I realized what I was looking at.”

“Oh.” So she did find him pleasant to look at. 

“Gave me quite the fright, to accidentally like the looks of an Elf.” She grinned. “I got over that by now.” 

“You did?”

“Aye, I am perfectly comfortable looking at your beauty, now. If you do not mind.”

“No – I do not.” 

She opened her eyes, and he could feel her gaze on his body. “It is strange ... I had been so determined to hate you, to find everything about you ugly and disagreeable, and then ... then suddenly there you were, gleaming in the morning sun, and my sleeping mind only realized it was you after it was too late.”

“Then when did you cease to hate me?”

“To hate you? Perhaps the first time you saved my life in battle. Though I do not think I ever truly hated you. I hated my idea what Thranduil’s son would be like. To dislike you ... I cannot say. When you sang of Nimrodel, I thought it was among the most beautiful things I had ever heard.”

“You did? I should like to sing it for you, again.” He tilted his head. “If you wish to hear it again?”

“I sure do!” 

His heart beat faster while he sang, and his excitement at her intent listening was ... strange, and yet familiar. 

Gimli had looked a bit sad, as was appropriate for it was a sad song, but when he ended, she smiled. “Singing is important to Elves, is it not?”

“It is ... yes, of course – but is not music important to everyone?”

“Oh, sure it is. Come here – would you unbraid my beard for me?”

“Certainly!” He knelt down. A shiver ran through his body when he touched her beard. This was really happening. She had asked him to ... the joy was almost too much. 

“Thing is ...” Gimli extended a hand, and after some hesitation, rested it on his shoulder. He was keenly aware of the roughness of her skin, the heat ... “Your body seems to react to this song in a way that cannot be attributed to the topic of the song ... at least I think so.”

“You can see it?” There were so many new feelings, but he had not thought she would notice. 

“Aye. Rather obvious.”

“This is all new to me – I know not how ...” It was a pleasant feeling, but confusing at the same time. 

“Don’t fret. We’ll take it slowly. Now, if you would turn around, I could wash your hair.”

His spirit felt much like his body, surrounded by pleasant warmth. Her touch in his hair sent hot shivers through his body – unfamiliar, yet deeply pleasant. Heat pooled lower in his body. 

“You like this a lot.” Gimli’s deep chuckle had strange effects, also. 

Was that how being bonded was like? 

“There, now. Clean as ever. Not that it really needed washing in the first place.”

Legolas sighed with disappointment as she withdrew her hands. “It did. Washing in a basin is just not the same.”

“I suppose so.”

The strange new feelings stayed with him all the time, until Gimli climbed out of the bath and he could again see her breasts. They were covered in fuzzy red hair, but the blue and green and yellow bruises ruined everything. Legolas winced just thinking of the pain. 

Gimli rummaged in the pockets on her belt until she had found what she looked for – a jar with salve, which she now applied to the bruises. “Do you want to help?” she asked after a while, and he realized he had stared. “You have very gentle hands.”

Did he? If so, he was glad of it. “Of course.” 

He took great care to be gentle, and it filled him with deep satisfaction to be able to help. Or perhaps not just that – it was a kind of satisfaction that felt strange and new. 

They had brought freshly laundered clothes with them, and Legolas immensely enjoyed the feeling of clean linen on his skin. It had been far too long since his last proper bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, downplayed the effects of binding - degradation of breast tissue is one of the more gruesome side effects, but I wanted something visible that wasn't too permanent. So bruises it is.


	19. Chapter 19

Gimli felt way better than before the bath. The hot water had helped relax her sore muscles, she had been able to clean her beard thoroughly, and the pain in her breasts ... Legolas’ hands were so soothing, she was not sure if it was magic. Or perhaps the salve Éowyn had given her had helped really well. 

Legolas. Looking at her had had no effect on him, the way she had been told it did in the males of her own kind, and knew enough to deduce it was the same for male Men. But singing ... yes, that had caused his blood to stir. And when she had washed his hair, he had been trembling with arousal. He seemed to not have noticed that she could see, and somehow, Gimli wondered what he knew. 

Had his father ever taken him aside and explained those things to him? She could hardly imagine that the cold, prideful Elvenking of the tales would deign to explain to his son where the little Elves came from ... but someone must have, surely? 

He knew where the blood she had washed out in that river in Lórien had come from, or he would not have been ashamed of offering his assistance. So that he knew, even though apparently it was not something that ever affected Elves. 

She remembered how she had joked that this kind of advice would be in time just before the wedding night ... would there ever be a wedding?

Not in a hundred thousand years would Thranduil give his blessing to such a marriage. Legolas claimed he wasn’t as heartless as Denethor, but that was not exactly high praise. 

Her own parents ... well. Mother held a grudge regarding Thranduil and, by extension, all the Elves in his realm, which might complicate matters. But she loved Gimli, and would be happy for her if she could be convinced that Legolas was not like his father. And father ... if Legolas admired his craft, he would like him soon enough.

Still. She would not be able to invite many guests. It would, at any rate, not be a very big wedding. Perhaps she should invite everyone, and just rely on their staying away? There were those who’d hold a grudge for not being invited, even if they wouldn’t have come, anyway. 

On the other hand ... no, she couldn’t risk someone being mean to Legolas. Not on the wedding day. 

“Perhaps I should not have invited you to bathe with me.”

Legolas looked up from where he had been busy adjusting the laces of his clothing. “Why not?”

“I rushed things.” They had known each other only for some months. True, they had spent almost all the time together, which meant they knew each other better than would have otherwise been the case. Still. It was a good time to start courting, but not ... not a good time to proceed to the more physical aspects of a relationship, perhaps.   
And for an Elf, it was hardly any time at all. 

“We are not married”, he stated, calmly, as if that was an answer, or suited to reassure her. 

“Aye. We are not married. How do your people do things?” Men, she had gathered, were rather opposed to physical intimacy before marriage, and still managed to conceive children outside marriage. Weird, and she really didn’t want to think about the implications.

“It is customary to be engaged for a time before marriage takes place.” He gazed into an unseen distance. “I ... I should like to introduce you to my family, before.”

“Your father will not be happy.” He hated Dwarves, and to see his son courting one ... no, that would not go down well. 

“No; he will be sad. He oft asked me if I was happy, when I did not get married in time, and now ... now he will see Lúthien’s fate befall me ... he will not be happy. Yet I think he bears me enough love to not take it out on you.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I have oft heard him talk of Thingol’s foolishness.”

Gimli frowned. Thingol? She vaguely remembered him as enemy of her people, but ...

“Thingol was the father of Lúthien Tinúviel. He sent Beren to almost certain death ... my father would not do so. When the heart has chosen, it is too late – and Thingol should have done everything in his power to extend the lifespan of his daughter’s love, instead of shortening it.”

Made sense. Although she could not believe that was an opinion held by Thranduil. Not the Thranduil of her mother’s tales. 

“Do not tell others of this – Thingol was a great king, and some may not like to hear such words.”

Gimli chuckled. “Your secret is safe with me. But do you really think ... I’m not a Man, I’m a Dwarf.”

“He does not trust Dwarves, but the Lady Galadriel’s gift should help with that. Her judgement is known to be sound.” 

True – being more highly esteemed by the Lady than this Elf would definitely help. Though Gimli suspected the gift of her hair might be because Galadriel knew her motives, which were, if deceitful, harmless to the Lady. Not because Gimli was in any way innately superior to that Elf Legolas had talked about. 

And then there this other thing ...“Sooner or later he’ll find out ... would your children have any right to the throne?” 

“No; my sister Lotheg is to follow him on the throne, if ... yet I hope there will be no need.”

Legolas never mentioned his mother, Gimli had noticed. Perhaps she was dead. Probably best not to mention it right now. He would tell her when he felt ready.

Now, he looked upon her with a surprised expression. “Do you wish to have children by me?”

“Not sure I should. No idea if it is possible at all, and if it is ... well. They wouldn’t have it easy.” And she had no desire to experience the pain of childbirth anytime soon. “I just assumed your father would be concerned about it, as the kings of Men are – forgot that this isn’t likely to be an issue for Elves.”

“Ah. Indeed, it is not. Your family ... it will become known, eventually, that you are courting me.”

“Aye, that it will, and many will not like it. You are the One I have chosen, and no one will question that decision ... if they know what is good for them. My parents will accept my choice.”

“Then I would be honoured to meet them.”

Gimli nodded. “As soon as possible.”


	20. Chapter 20

Legolas did not feel that things had been rushed. Not truly. He had heard of people who had rushed straight to marriage after some few weeks of knowing each other. Gimli had made no attempts to do so. 

She did not ask him to bathe with her again, but did braid his hair every morning, and often asked him to braid her hair and beard. 

No day passed without some song or the other, and Legolas discovered to his delight, that his particular favourite song was a favourite of hers, also. 

The new feelings their closeness caused grew somewhat more familiar to Legolas, and his confusion lessened. 

It was the day before Aragorn would be crowned. They had just had a sparring match in the courtyard, and Gimli lifted her arm, sniffed the armpit and declared: “A bath will be sorely needed. If you choose to keep your distance, I’ll understand. Must be horribly offensive to your sensitive nose.”

Legolas looked at her, his mind blank. “What do you mean?”

“I stink. Come on, there’s no need to pretend you didn’t notice.”

“No – I ... there’s no need to pretend ...” Swiftly he crossed the distance between them and knelt down to hug her. And that was when he noticed. “You smell ...”

She patted him on the back. “Ah? Not really like a boar, eh? But bad enough.”

“No, it is, actually ... pleasant.” Not like flowers, no, of course not, but ... oddly intriguing. And now he was sure he had smelt it before, just not been aware. “When I ... I said there was a stench of boar, that was nothing like this.” Yet he was sure it had come from her. Could his perceptions have changed because of his love for her? He would have sworn it was not the same scent, perceived differently, but a completely different one. 

“Huh. Weird. I suppose fresh sweat is not as bad as old ...” Her voice trailed off, and there was a slight frown on her face. “Wait. Actually, now that I think about it ... when did you last notice that stench of boar?”

When had he? Last time he had allowed himself to be angry at Gimli because of it had been before Lórien. In the Golden Woods, he had noticed nothing, afterwards, it had grown more noticeable again, which he had attributed to the lack of opportunities to wash. Then subsided, but not disappeared when they had moved into their current lodgings ...”The day you were bedridden, I think, but my mind was occupied with other things, then.”

“The most potent herb of those I used is called ‘boar’s bristle’ in our ancient tongue ... I often wondered why, as it doesn’t particularly look like a bristle ...” She gently cupped his face in one of her large hands. “You speak the truth? You really do not find my smell repulsive right now?”

“I would not lie to you. It is a rather strong smell, but pleasant.”

“Thank Mahal! I ...”

“You were worried.” 

“Not worried”, she replied gruffly. “A bit ... self-conscious perhaps. When I sweat, I smell, there’s nothing to be done about it, and the thought that you might not want to hug me ...”

He tightened his embrace. “That will not happen.”

“I am glad to know.”

 

It was not long after Gimli had went to her bath when a Dwarf messenger arrived in the hall where most of the Fellowship were gathered around the fireplace.  
The servant leading him bowed before Legolas. “This is Sorn, son of Morn. He has a message and parcel to deliver to Lord Gimli.” 

“To Gimli, and no one else”, the Dwarf growled. 

Legolas smiled. The poor Dwarf must be quite confused as to why he was led to an Elf. The servants ... probably they did not suspect anything, but they must have noticed that Gimli and he were close friends. Most of the servants did not seem to know of the old enmity between their people, and it certainly made sense to refer the messenger to Gimli’s closest friend. 

“Ah. Gimli will be here shortly. Meanwhile, can I offer you something to drink?” Legolas inclined his head. 

The Dwarf was not mollified by this offer. “No time. Tell me where I can find Gimli, son of Glóin, and I will deliver my message.”

“He is in the bath, and I do not think he would welcome such an interruption. Unless your message is urgent? Is it bad news?”

“The message isn’t so urgent, but time is money.”

“Good, then.” Legolas looked at the servant. “A cup for our guest.”

When the servant had gone, Legolas smiled. “You have not heard of me, then? I am Legolas, of Greenwood.”

Sorn’s face seemed to express some surprise, but with Dwarves who weren’t Gimli, Legolas still found it hard to tell. 

“Do not think you have been slighted; many Men know not that your people hate mine, and I am Gimli’s closest ... friend here.” He reached behind himself and pulled Gimli’s courtship braid over his shoulder so Sorn could see it. “Since you would have to wait at the bathroom doors, anyway, you can just as well stay here.”

The Dwarf did not seem to listen, his attention completely absorbed in the braid now dangling over Legolas’ shoulder. 

When the servant returned with a cup, Legolas poured some of the ale that Gimli favoured into it and handed it to Sorn. “Whatever thoughts you want to voice, please do so quietly; the Steward does not know what this braid signifies, and might be scandalized to hear. The strange customs of Men, you know.”

Sorn made a strangled sound. “Men? As if Elves are ... are...” He apparently decided there was no risk of Legolas trying to poison him, and emptied the mug in one go. Thankfully, he had spoken rather quietly. 

“Is there something in particular that you dislike about our customs?”

“What did you do to Gimli?” the Dwarf hissed, finally having found his voice again. “What witchcraft did you use to make him do this?”

“I fought at his side in many a battle. He came to trust me – there was no need to make him do anything. More ale?”

“Why ...” Sorn stared at him. “Why do you offer me ale?”

“I surmised you would favour it over wine. Or do you prefer mead?”

“Why do you offer me anything?”

“You are in a state of shock and I have been told that ale helps with that.” Legolas observed the Dwarf’s baffled expression with some amusement. “Also, it will hopefully keep you from interrupting Gimli’s bath.”

“Your king imprisoned the Company of King Oakenshield!”

“Indeed. And Gimli long held it against me.” Legolas filled the cup with ale again and handed it back. “I will not repeat any mistakes of the past. Which is why I tolerate your accusations. It shall not be said that Thranduil’s son is as unhospitable as King Thranduil himself.”

It took some time for Sorn to understand who exactly Legolas was. The way his eyes widened was rather amusing. 

After that, the messenger drank silently and steadily until Gimli arrived. She was beautiful, her hair still glistening with the water, and not yet braided. Perhaps she would ask him to do it ...

Sorn, son of Morn jumped to his feet and introduced himself politely to Gimli, who did the same. Then, the letter and parcel that Sorn had been keeping tightly under his left arm, were handed over. 

Gimli thanked him. “Just in time. I hope you didn’t wait too long.”

“Not very long, and I had ale. Prince Legolas was very ... hospitable.”

“Of course he was. I am pleased to see that you noticed what he means to me and chose to be courteous.” Gimli’s grin, perhaps, showed a bit more of her teeth than usually. “Please don’t gossip, I should like to be the one to tell my parents.”

After the messenger had left, Legolas turned to Gimli. “Did you expect a parcel? He would not say if the news were bad ...”

“Aye, those are my good clothes. You are not the only one who sent a letter back home to ask for something befitting the occasion – it is just that your folks have faster means of transport.” She ripped open the seal on the letter. “Ah. My parents will, if all goes well, be here for the coronation.”

“Nothing else?”

“Ah, well, of course they are very pleased with me surviving this whole thing and all. Nothing of interest to you, I suppose.”

“Not for me to read, yet it would have been distressing had there not been some mention of it.” After witnessing the effects a lack of parental love could have, Legolas could not take it for granted anymore, that of course Gimli’s parents would be proud and happy. 

“Your father wrote something along these lines, too, I suppose?”

“Yes – though he added some rather nasty lines on the matter of traveling with a Dwarf, which is why I chose not to tell you any details.” Had he received that letter on the beginning of their journey, he would no doubt have been pleased that his patience and self-restraint in not picking fights with the Dwarf were praised. Now it felt more like an insult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Thorin Oakenshield survived. I just can't seem to decide to let anyone die. Also, he needs to be alive so that people can complain about his grumpyness, as he is officially the rudest dwarf ever.


	21. Chapter 21

Gimli had noticed with some disappointment that, of course, the clothes sent to her were those she would usually wear at such occasions with Elves and Men present. Perhaps she should have emphasized her admiration for Aragorn, and asked for her truly best .. but on the other hand, it was safer that way. It was not only her secret, it was the secret of half of all Dwarves who traveled outside the jurisdiction of their mountains. 

There was nothing wrong with the robe, as such. It was comfortable to wear and looked nice enough. Yet unlike her favourite robe, it was tailored to hide her form, the colour was in the drab tones that Men could achieve with plant dye rather than the bright mineral dyes of her people, and while it was not completely without embroidery, it was clear that only the adornment that was absolutely necessary to show her status had been done. 

Aragorn would have deserved to have her attend in the traditional attire, she felt. He could be trusted to make sure they were not attacked, so the hidden weapons and weak fabric so that the robe could be turned into a shorter tunic at a moment’s notice, was not necessary. 

And probably, no one would have noticed that she was female, anyway, even without the padding that added bulk to shoulders and belly so that the breasts inbetween were not as visible. 

Well, there was nothing to be done about it. 

 

During the coronation, her attention was on King Elessar. When the ceremony had ended, and all that remained to be done was to celebrate, she scanned the crowd. 

“Can you see your parents?”

“Nay. They had plenty of time to see me standing up here, I should go look for them.”

Legolas shook his head. “That would be unwise, they must know you are here, and will look for you. If they are too shy to approach you here, then I should easily be able to find them in the surroundings.”

“Fine. I should be grateful – on the condition that you do not hold it against them if they are ... impolite.”

“Meleth, I could not hold a grudge against those who are dear to you.” Legolas smiled, and one moment later he walked through the crowd, people stumbling as they hastened to make way for him. 

Gimli scanned the surroundings once more. The King had been crowned on an elevated platform so that all could see. The Nine Walkers had been granted the privilege of a platform a bit below that, so that they would not be crushed to death amongst the masses. Or perhaps to honour them, Denethor also had a special platform, as did the Elven guests arrived to witness the ceremony. 

“Gimli!”

She looked down. There, before her, were her parents. Her mother in the same fine robes she had worn in Rivendell, her father in something much the same, but with the ribbon in his beard that declared to every Dwarf that they should address him as female. They would usually pretend to be brothers – the ribbon meant that her father was proud enough of her to want the Men and Elves to know he was her parent. 

“Come here, my lad!”

Gimli stepped down and hugged her parents. “Were you here in time?”

“For the coronation? Aye. But – “ and here her mother stopped and eyed her suspiciously, clasping her shoulders with both hands. “Something happened to you. We have heard your name been said, but when we went close, no one would tell us what the matter is.”

“For good reason. I wanted to tell you myself. But not here.”

Introductions were made, and when Legolas showed up halfway in, Gimli just introduced him with his name and as her dear friend. The courting braid was rather hidden within the elaborate braiding, and Gimli hoped she would be able to reveal the truth in a more private setting. 

There was to be a feast, but they were allowed some time before that. Gimli lead her parents to the room she occupied. 

Legolas walked past them and indicated, with a nod, that he would be in his room. 

The door had barely closed behind them, when two very worried faces turned towards Gimli. “You have been discovered, have you? What more?”

Gimli took a deep breath. “In Lothlórien, the Lady Galadriel saw through me as soon as she laid eyes on me. She never betrayed me, though.“

“Then why the gossip?” her father asked. “They pity us, I can see it.”

Perhaps narrating the events that had lead to this would help them understand?

“The Elves insisted that I wear a blindfold to enter Lórien. The way took about a day. I did not dare take the herbs.” She omitted the embarrassing incident; it would only turn her parents against the Elves. “Some days later, Legolas happened upon me while I was washing my rags.”

Her mother cursed under her breath. “What did he do?”

“He assumed I was wounded and offered to tend to my wounds, or help me with the washing. Of course, I did not accept that offer ...” She bit on her lip. “At the time, I thought that was the end of it. I apologized for my outburst, as he had been ... kind to me, for the first time on our journey.”

“He used this knowledge against you, later?” 

Both her parents had paled. 

“Nay! He would never do such a thing! After we left Lórien, we had a fight against orcs, and I was wounded at the thigh. Legolas insisted to see the wound ... he, ah, offered I could cover myself with my tunic while he had a look and ... he accidentally shoved his elbow where it would have hurt rather badly if I had male parts.” Gimli dared to meet her parents’ gazes. At least they had regained some colour. 

“It was then that he told me he knew my secret and would keep it. Which he has done.”

“Why is it then that every Dwarf in this city looks upon us with pity?” her father asked quietly. 

“Ah. Well. I was getting to that. You see, Legolas was ... um, very kind. And he is a valiant fighter. And ... he braided for me.” Her gaze was now rather intently focused on her shoes. 

“He what? Nonsense! An Elf would not even know –“

Now, she lifted her head. She was one of the Nine Walkers, and would not let her love be insulted so. “I told him, mother! He asked – I thought him in love with some woman of Men, and he asked for advice, and ... I told him the only thing I knew! You have seen his hair! Don’t judge me! Every woman would have gotten an itch to place a courtship braid in that hair!”

“Oh. Oh!”

“You love the Elf?” her father asked incredulously. 

“Aye. I am sorry, mother. But he is not his father.”

“Gimli! Do you really think that ... that my hate for Thranduil is ... it is of no concern here! I am worried for your happiness!”

“No need to. Legolas is ... he is no Man. I thought Elves were worse, but that is not so. Legolas understands. He braided for me, and he waited for me to come to him, and he let me braid the courtship braid into his hair, he wears it proudly ... which is why everyone knows. You know what this means for him – his father will be ... less than pleased.”

“It means nothing to him that every Dwarf knows – what Elves think is what is important to him, and ... I think he only toys with you and will soon return to his forest.”

Gimli shook her head. “Elves are not like Men. They love only once.”

Her mother frowned. “He wants you to believe that. Doesn’t mean it is true. And even if it is – perhaps he does not love you.”

“I am pretty sure that he ... that I am the first ...” Damn. Legolas’ obvious confusion over his sexual arousal really was not something she wanted to talk to her parents about! “You know what? You can ask King Elessar. He grew up among Elves, he would know. He’s the one who gave me a hint that Legolas ... likes me, in the first place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, one can get rather bright colours on wool with plant dyes. But apparently they soon fade in the sun, and I decided that Dwarves have mineral dyes that don't fade. (Not that they go outside that much, anyway ...). Elves probably can do lots of things with plants Men cannot. 
> 
> And yes, all Dwarves take part in ensuring that no outsider will ever learn to tell the difference between female and male Dwarves. "Female" Dwarves only make an appearance if one half of a married couple already went out into the world and is thought to be male AND the couple want to be perceived as couple for some reason. Therefore, they are seemingly very rare. The actual sex of the Dwarf is unimportant, what matters is whether they think they will ever want to get involved in politics with Men and Elves. Gimli's father is committed to his craft (not yet decided what it is, some prompt asked for glass making as craft, which I think is a rather nice idea), and thus doesn't much care if everyone outside the mountain thinks he's female and discriminates against him on those grounds.


	22. Chapter 22

That there would be a lot of food, Gimli had expected. That the food would be ... pretty, she had not. There were sculptures made of butter, plates full of potatoes that had been carved into pears and apples and other fruit, then fried in fat. Root vegetables of all kinds carved to look like blossoms. And most surprising of all, even real fruit. Not just apples that had been kept in cool cellars during the winter, but also fruits the likes of which Gimli had never seen before. 

“Is that edible?” Her mother pointed at a bowl with green salad, that was decorated with early spring blossoms. 

“Cowslip and cuckoo flower”, Legolas explained. “It is certainly meant for eating. Some of the green parts are lesser celandine, which can be poisonous under some conditions – but it will taste bitter then, so you would know.”

 

Gimli watched Legolas with increasing amusement. He was still the Elf she had fallen in love with, but his behaviour was so similar to every joke she had heard about insecure suitors who tried to impress their future parents in law. It was hilarious. 

Later, when she went to the privy and her father was waiting outside when she emerged, she was not much surprised that he stated “I must apologize – his intentions must be at least somewhat serious, or he would not go to such lengths to be polite to Dwarves ... especially the very same Dwarf his father held imprisoned.”

Gimli grinned. “I told you so”, she said with great glee. “Now, do you want to talk to King Elessar, or will you believe Legolas?”

“I would ask you to spare my beloved.” From around the corner, Arwen, whom Gimli had met but briefly, appeared. “He has already promised to talk to so many I doubt he will be able to get any rest before the sun rises.”

“The matter is not urgent.” Gimli shrugged. 

“I would not like for someone to believe Legolas untrustworthy for longer than is needed. If it is anything I can help you with ...? Though I have not talked to him often I have known of him for a long time.”

“You know then the laws and customs of the Elves of Mirkwood?”

Arwen inclined her head. “I should think so. Is this about Legolas courting your son?”

“You know?!”

Gimli flinched when she saw her father’s hurt and suprised gaze. 

“Peace”, Arwen raised her hand. “It is a secret to most. Yet I could not help but notice that Legolas calls Gimli his ‘meleth’. Most Men of Gondor would not know what it means. I do.”

“Ah. Well. It is just that ... I mean no harm Lady Arwen. But Elven faces are hard to read, and I am not entirely convinced that Thranduil’s son can be serious with his alleged feelings ... Gimli says Elves love only once – is this true? Can I be certain that ... you see, we keep our children away from Men, as Men are known for their ... flightiness and lack of loyalty. I would not want my laddie to get hurt.”

Arwen smiled. “I could tell you many things I have seen in Legolas’ face, but you might not believe me. So let me tell you something that must be obvious: Legolas, who is not, like me, descended from Lúthien, and can not choose a mortal fate, lives ever with the certainty that he will see his mortal friends die, and will live until the world ends knowing that he will never see them again. If you believe that he cares about Gimli at all, then you must acknowledge that he invites great pain into his life by pursuing this friendship.”

Gimli swallowed. She had tried to forget that. 

“I can also tell you that Elves marry but once, and will not remarry after a spouse’s death, as it is the custom of Men.”

“Aye.” Her father nodded. “I do not doubt your word. But would an Elf feel bound to a marriage by Dwarven customs?”

“That, I can not say.” Arwen’s smile became ... different, there was amusement on her features now instead of just kindness. “Yet I can tell you whether he be wed or unwed by Elven customs.”

“Well, then. Gimli my lad, I suggest you get married by Elvish traditions, before you ...braid a marriage braid into his hair. Just to be on the safe side.”

Arwen chuckled softly. 

Gimli’s father frowned. “He isn’t already married, is he?”

“He is unwed ... yet.” Yes, it was obvious now, the Lady found something very amusing. “It is just that the marriage customs of Men are such that an Elf wed according to such traditions, would be recognized as married by Elves, also. I am rather sure it is the same with Dwarven customs... of course, I cannot know.” She inclined her head. “For what it is worth; it is my impression that Legolas is sincere.”

“Told you so!”


	23. Chapter 23

When Gimli announced that she would go to bed, Legolas excused himself also. Her parents had gone to their lodgings in the city some time previously – they had been invited to stay at some Dwarven blacksmith’s place, and Legolas surmised that their return was eagerly awaited. For all that Dwarves were proud and secretive, they could also enjoy gossip. 

“So”, Gimli said as they walked to their rooms. “What do you think of them?”

“Your parents? Their manners I cannot find fault with – I only fear what they might think of me.” He had done his very best to create a favourable impression, yet had he succeeded? Perhaps they had taken his efforts as proof of his trying to deceive them. 

“Ah, well, they suspect you aren’t that serious about this, what with you being immortal and whatnot. Advised me to get married according to your customs first of all, so that you couldn’t declare the marriage invalid afterwards. That should be no problem, right?”

It was sound reasoning. Indeed, it was such sound reasoning that ... “My father might have that very same idea, and insist we are married according to your customs, first.”

“Aye, that would be unfortunate.”

“The fact that every Dwarf in this city knows of our courtship by now might serve to reassure him, but then, perhaps not. It is allowed to break off courtship, is it not?”

“Aye, it is. That is what it is there for, getting to know one another and be able to change your mind. However, it would be a stain on my honour to break off courtship.”

“As you would be perceived as lacking loyalty?”

“Nay, that’s not it. Courtship doesn’t come with obligations. It’s just that people would know I was wrong in my assumption that you are my One. I hate being wrong. It’s just embarrassing. Most Dwarves would think the same.”

So this was a cultural trait? “Then it must have cost you much to change our opinion of me, in Lórien.”

“Not really.” Gimli shrugged. “Truth be told, I hadn’t really bothered to make many judgements on you beforehand – I just decided that I could probably trust you with my life and I needn’t watch my back. Had I not trusted you, and gotten injured because of protecting my back instead of my front, my pride would have suffered more than my body.” 

“Oh.” He had not made that connection, then. 

“It’s not as flattering as it sounds. I trusted you with the life of Gimli, son of Glóin, back then, as in my estimation, you did not have sufficient reason to kill that Dwarf, or cause him to be killed. My secrets, on the other hand, are a very different matter.”

That, now, Legolas could understand all too well. “There are many things my people fear more than death, also. Yet I always thought this to be because death is not the same for us as it is for you.”

“Not? I thought you could be killed same as any other?”

Legolas inclined his head. “It is so, yet we can choose to return after some time has passed. When I told you that Elves do not do the despicable things Men are capable of, this was no mere pride, nor trust in my kin. An Elf, if tortured, may choose to forsake bodily life, and be reborn elsewhere. And while we know that it is not so with Mortals, inflicting pain on any being we do not aim to kill does not come easily to us.” 

“Your father imprisoned Thorin Oakenshield and Company.” It was not an accusation, merely a statement. 

“He did. It was a matter of inflicting mild annoyance on someone. Some months in prison are still preferable to leaving Arda and not returning for years. Such punishments can be of use.”

“Aye, makes sense. Though, if you don’t mind me asking, if Elves never die, why is, say, Thingol not alive anymore?”

“Most choose to stay in the undying lands, to let their souls heal, if nothing else, and some ...” Legolas swallowed. “I do not know why my mother has never returned.” He had not meant to say that. Clearly Gimli had not wanted to know. Just ...

“Oh.” Gimli placed a hand on his back. “I should not have asked.”

“You need to know. It is my father’s greatest grief, and it would have served us ill for you to bring it up with him.”

“And it grieves you, too. Want to talk about it?”

“It is a rather short tale.” And that, perhaps, was why it caused such sorrow.

“I should have made myself clearer. Do you want me to hold you while you cry?”

“Oh.” He had not thought ... and yet, now that it was mentioned ... “Yes.”

Gimli ushered him inside her room, barred the door, and sat down on the bed. “Now, come here.” She patted the mattress. 

He removed his shoes and laid down, placing his head in her lap after only short hesitation. Surrounded by her comforting warmth and smell, it was easier to talk about it. “As I said, the tale is short. Darkness crept into the woods, and mother and I rode out with some others, to fight the evil. She is a capable fighter, and so I did not keep my eyes on her. Which was my mistake. An orc’s arrow felled her – a quick death. She suffered not ... and yet, she does not return.”

Fighting the tears had become a habit, but when Gimli placed a hand on his forehead, the tears did come. “I blamed myself, but my father would hear nothing of it. An accident, he said, bad luck. Yet when she did not return, when years turned to centuries, he started to blame himself. To part from one’s child is natural, but to leave a bonded spouse behind ...”

He had not noticed his shoulders where trembling, and only became aware of it when Gimli pulled him into her arms. 

They did not talk after that for quite some time. It was deep in the night, and Gimli already half asleep, when Legolas could find the strength to part from her and seek his own bed. 

 

In the morning, Legolas decided to write another letter to his father. Many guests had come for the coronation who perhaps would not stay for the royal wedding, and if some of those traveled through the Woodland Realm ... he did not want his father to learn it from strangers.

The words did not come easily, for how could words even express what had happened?

“Dear Father”, he wrote. 

“There is something I have to tell you, and while it should be said in person rather than being written, I do not know whom you will meet before me, and I should not like for you to learn it from someone else.   
Brace yourself, for it is not happy news, I suppose, not for you, though I have never been happier.   
For Lúthien’s doom has befallen me, and the time has come when you might stand by your words, which I much hope you will do.   
I hope to return soon, and be able to tell you more.”

Having that off his chest, Legolas added some words on the coronation and the upcoming wedding.


	24. Chapter 24

Mirkwood was scary. Not so much because of the tales Gimli had heard about it. Giant spiders were sure scary. Starving because you had lost the way was scary. Being imprisoned by the Elven King was scary. 

However, all of those problems could have been solved by applying her axe to them. 

No, what she was really scared of was that Thranduil would hate her. And Legolas would defend her, and the two would fight, and her beloved would be unhappy. 

“Something weighs on your mind, my love.” 

Of course he had noticed. He always noticed. “Aye.”

He nodded, acknowledging that she did not want to talk about it. Probably he knew, anyway. 

 

When sunset coloured the treebark golden, they made camp next to a little creek. It looked rather harmless. Nice, even. Not like Lothlórien, but a rather endearing, everyday kind of beauty that made Gimli feel almost at home. 

She saw Legolas observe the creek with fondness, something in his face told her that there had been a change, here. This was not the Mirkwood her mother had told her about. 

“Can we make fire?” 

Legolas inclined his head. “It has rained not too long ago. A small fire should be safe.”

Gimli set to work, taking sand and stones from the creek to form a protective layer over the grass at the side of the creek. 

When she was ready, Legolas had already collected dry, dead wood, enough for a small campfire. 

“I wrote to my father”, Legolas said quietly while Gimli built a fire. “He will not be happy, but he will do nothing rash.”

So he knew. Of course. 

“You told me. You didn’t mention I’m a Dwarf.”

“Father does not ... hate Dwarves. He is not fond of your kind, but ... relationships with Erebor ...“

“... have been good because of one heroic Hobbit who single-handedly avoided a pointless battle, got banished for his troubles, and then forgave our most esteemed King immediately after ... it is not exactly because your father doesn’t hate us. It’s just that he can’t say no to a Hobbit’s big, innocent eyes. It is just our good luck that Frodo’s uncle is the King’s friend.” She finished the birch bark nest and started to strike sparks.

Legolas laughed. “That may be true. I have never doubted Mithrandir’s wisdom, but it is only now that I can truly appreciate it. Every quest needs at least one Hobbit, he was wise to make sure we had four.”

“Aye. Clearly, with such a force on our side, failure was impossible. Perhaps we should have asked Frodo to come with us.” Gimli shielded the tiny flame with her hands. “Or perhaps not. Your father might resent me even more for using such wiles on him.”

“It will not be needed.”

Gimli sure hoped that. If Thranduil didn’t behave like Legolas expected him to, then she ... would bite her teeth together and be very nice and polite and most definitely not slap him for hurting her beloved. Because that would hurt Legolas even more. 

They sat at the campfire, the wind in their backs, and watched the smoke drift away – ah, the pleasures of having a campfire for two people! You actually got to pick where to sit. 

Legolas sang, as he always did, every evening, and Gimli leant so close that she could feel the vibrations in his chest. 

Somewhere mid-song, she placed a hand on his thigh. When he had ended, she caressed the soft, well-worn linen of his leggings, slowly moving upwards ...

“Stop”, Legolas pleaded softly. 

Gimli practically jumped away from him. “Sorry!” She had vowed to be careful with him, and slow. But somehow, sleepy and happy and close to him, she had forgotten. She could have slapped herself. 

“No need. It is not ... I enjoy your touch.”

“Aye?”

“It is just that I ... enjoy it a bit too much.” He placed an arm around her shoulders. “Please do not take that as a sign to not touch me again. Just ... stop when I ask you to?”

“Aye, I can do that. Though I don’t understand how you can enjoy something too much. Not while we are alone, that is.”

His silvery laugh reassured her that, indeed, he was happy. “This is all new to me, and I am a bit scared of what might happen.”

“I have a pretty good idea of what would happen with a Dwarf ... though I would be very flattered if I had managed to get you that excited ...”

“You did.” Legolas inclined his head in the way that usually meant he was searching for words. “Or close ... I know something would have happened if you had continued.”

She could suggest getting naked, as that would help against stained clothes ... but no. If they were seen – if she was seen, seducing, nay, defiling Thranduil’s innocent, mere thousands of years old son – it would not end well. Not if Thranduil behaved in any way like Men did about their daughters. 

“That’s very flattering.” And hard to resist. “Can I touch your face?” Face. Face was safe, right? 

Legolas turned towards her and rested his forehead against hers. “I will be ready ... soon. But not yet”, he whispered. She could feel his breath on her face. 

“Not yet”, she agreed, cupping his face in her hand. “Not yet.” She leant in for a kiss, Legolas did likewise, and their lips brushed for a short moment, before Legolas withdrew. 

“I ... I am sorry, it is ... too much. Your hand –“ he took her hand in his and gently removed it from his face. “The roughness of it, the warmth, I ...”

Very, very hard to resist. “Alright then. Let’s sleep. I suppose I should be on the other side of the fire?” 

“That would probably be ... wiser.”


	25. Chapter 25

It was hard to sleep without the reassuring touch of Legolas’ arm around her. Silly, really – it was not as if Elves weren’t good enough archers to be able to shoot her without harming him. And their sharing a campfire should be enough to tell them that their prince would not appreciate her death at their hands. Probably. 

She was being unfair. The Elves didn’t kill any of the Dwarves traveling with her mother, even though they had plenty opportunity. Why would they kill her on sight? Still ....

Eventually, Gimli fell asleep despite all those worries. 

 

When she woke up, she was on her feet, axe in hand, before part of her mind even realized what was going on.   
There was a strange Elf, sitting next to Legolas’s sleeping form. Much too close. And he was watching her beloved. 

“Peace, Dwarf.” The Elf raised a hand. “Do I look like I mean to attack you?” 

“’twas merely instinct I acted on”, Gimli replied quietly. “And it is not me I am concerned about.” 

She lowered her axe and bowed. “Gimli, son of Glóin, at your service.” Legolas had shown no sign of waking up. Either the other Elf’s voice was familiar to him, or a sleeping poison had been used. In the latter case, she could always kill the strange Elf later. 

“What is your purpose in traveling here?”

Legolas stirred, and the strange Elf whispered some Elvish words. The relaxing effect those words had on Legolas be better by virtue of him knowing that Elf ...

“Prince Legolas wishes to see his father.” She held the Elf’s gaze. He better be Legolas’ brother, or Thranduil himself. His garb was not adorned in any way, but of good quality. 

“That explains not why a Dwarf would walk away from Erebor.”

“A Dwarf might be on his way to visit kin in the Blue Mountains.” Gimli leaned on her axe. “Or perhaps this Dwarf wishes to accompany a dear friend.”

Legolas’ smile betrayed him. He was very much awake. 

“If you want answers, then perhaps you should not be so rude, Ada.” He sat up. “Gimli, I am pleased to see that you have managed to be polite to my father without my intervention, even though the same cannot be said for him.”

Thranduil frowned. “I was merely cautious.”

“No offense taken.”

The Elven King raised his eyebrows in a way that reminded Gimli of Legolas. “You are very courteous, for a Dwarf.”

“Ada!”

Gimli shook her head. “Let him be, Legolas, he has reason to hate me.”

“I have?” 

“You have”, Legolas said quietly. “As much reason as Thingol had to hate Beren.”

Thranduil looked at him for a long time. “Gimli, like you, was one of the Nine Walkers.”

“Indeed. And has won the favour of the Lady Galadriel. Perhaps you have already heard the tale.”

“Such news travel fast.” Thranduil inclined his head in an almost-nod that reminded Gimli a lot of Legolas. “Yet you are not wed.”

Legolas had held his father’s gaze for all this time, undaunted by his father’s the stony expression and emotionless voice. “I trust you, Ada. You would not stand in my way.”

And that was when the most extraordinary thing happened. Thranduil placed a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. And then actually kissed Legolas’ forehead. 

Gimli averted her gaze as soon as she realized it was really happening. How was this possible? Thranduil was ... cold and cruel and devoid of feeling ... yet here he was, acting like ... like a normal parent?

“I would not.” Thranduil rose. “Come. Your rooms are ready.” He turned to look at Gimli. “For you, one of the best guest rooms is prepared, and I would ask you to use it. Legolas is a prince, it would not be seemly for him to be wed without celebration, and an appropriate feast takes many months to plan.”

Gimli blinked. “You ... you are ... going to ... plan our wedding?”

“Some of it. The details will be left to those in charge of the cellar and kitchens. If there is some Dwarven tradition you wish to have observed, feel free to say so.” Thranduil started to walk at a fast pace. 

“We can talk of that later. There’s one condition I have.”

“And that would be?”

“My parents will be invited. I’m sure you remember Glóin – this time, you’ll give him one of the best guest rooms. One with a door that only locks from the inside.”

She could have sworn she saw a small smile on his otherwise motionless face. “Of course. You have my word. Will your mother also honour us with her presence?”

There was only so much strangeness a mind could endure, and Gimli’s had reached the limits, resulting in her just going along with the fact that the King Thranduil, of all people, acted like he was pleased to invite her parents. To a wedding between his son and a Dwarf.  
She shrugged. “Perhaps. You may have noticed that you seldom see female Dwarves travel.”

“I cannot say I have noticed. It may well be so, yet I have never taken an interest in the matter. If your mother does not feel safe traveling through the lands of Men, she may take some warriors with her – provided that they are no troublemakers and will leave their weapons in the care of my guards during their stay here.”

“I’ll write a letter.”


	26. Chapter 26

It turned out they had been only a hour’s brisk walking away from the ... castle? It was hewn into a cliff and Gimli would have called it a mountain, except that it was not, not really, and there was much more sunlight than she was used to from Erebor. 

Thranduil assured them he would send his servants to collect their things, and they were served breakfast. 

She recognized almost nothing of the things on her plate, and the things she did, she had not known were edible. 

“Be careful with the sorrel salad”, Thranduil advised when she eyed a green salad with suspicion. “Men seem to get kidney stones from eating too much of it.” He cast Legolas a reproachful look. “You could really have mentioned in your letter – I wasted so much time researching the eating habits of Men.”

“Forgive me”, Legolas replied softly. “I had not expected that you would ...” He shook his head as though he could not believe it even now. 

“Closing my eyes to the problem would be of no use. As a good king, I have to see problems and solve them. Well. It will be a challenge to find out on what diet Dwarves live the longest, but perhaps Elrond knows something ...”

“You are going to ask Elrond for advice?” Legolas sounded incredulous. 

“We have not been on the best of terms those past years, but I am sure he is willing to look past that. I am certain you made a favourable impression while staying at Rivendell.”

“Ada ...” 

“You are my son”, Thranduil stated, followed by a sentence Gimli couldn’t wholly understand, but could tell was something about how much he loved his children. 

 

After breakfast, Legolas offered to show her the way to the bathroom, and having not washed in anything but icy streams for weeks, Gimli eagerly accepted. 

“You seem confused by what your father said.”

“I am. And I am shamed – I never ... I told you before that I am unlike him in many ways, and that he has never let me feel that he likes any of my siblings better ... yet ... I would not have thought that he loves me so.”

“Not thought, perhaps. But known. You brought me here.” And it could have gone wrong in many ways. “You would not have done so if you had not known in your heart that there was no danger he would harm me, or try to separate us.”

“Maybe that is so. If you thought all this possible, then why did you come with me?”

“Because I trust you. Your father might have tried to harm me ... tried.”

“I knew he would not.”

Gimli nodded. There was something else she now remembered. “Your father was surprised we aren’t married ... do Elves have marriage braids, too?” She knew Men used rings, but had seen nothing of the kind on any Elf, and the Lady Arwen had not changed her hair after the wedding, either. 

“No, one just ... can tell.”

“How?”

“It is hard to explain. The voice, perhaps? The way someone moves? It is all very subtle, yet obvious.”

They had arrived at a door, which Legolas opened now. “This is my private bathroom. It is not attached to my room, which is much higher and has natural light, but you will not be disturbed here.”

“There is light here.” It was greenish, but what else would one expect in a ... place inhabited by Elves?

“It comes from luminescent fungus.” 

“Ah, I only know the one that glow blue. But that’s natural light, aye? Perfectly natural, fungus.”

Legolas laughed. “There is truth in that. Yet it is not sunlight, nor the light of stars and moon.”

He made no motions to follow her inside. Perhaps he was not sure if it was wanted? “Care to join me?”

“I ... I would like to. Yet perhaps it is for the best if you do not touch me while we bathe.”

That was a bit disappointing, but then, Thranduil had made it clear that he didn’t want his son defiled before the wedding night ... weird, she had not thought Elves would be so concerned with propriety; Legolas had never mentioned it. 

The pool in this bathroom was carved out of the same stone as everything else, it could almost have been a natural pool in the cave. It was full of how water that smelled a bit of sulfur. “Cosy.”

“I have missed this a lot”, Legolas admitted. He undressed himself with efficient moves and was in the water before Gimli was out of her chainmail. 

She had not bound her breasts again, and now questioned whether she should have done it at all – apparently, her beard was plenty enough to convince any Man or Elf or Hobbit that she was male.   
It was weird, she had never believed they could really be so easily misled, yet apparently it was so. Men just weren’t good at this, of course. When Legolas had worn his robe for the celebrations, he had been adressed as “lady” a number of times.   
With Thranduil ... well. He probably didn’t care enough to question what he was told. Not even with his son’s intended. 

Finally, Gimli took off her shirt. She was not prepared for the way Legolas stared at her. Ahhh, now that was the appropriate expression on his face. 

“I am glad to see you are fully healed”, he finally said. 

“Aye. Took long enough.” She lowered herself into the pool, standing on the carved stone bench where Legolas was seated. “Now, why does your father not want us to share your room? Is this about your chastity?”

Legolas inclined his head. “Not exactly. While it is perfectly lawful to be wed without ceremony, he would not want that for me. Not in times of peace and plenty, as we fortunately have now.”

She was not sure she understood what he was talking about. “What effect would us sharing a bed have on the celebration? No one would have to know.”

“Everyone would see that I am wed already. It is not like with Men, no one would ... would treat us any different, but ... you see, it is as if Aragorn had been crowned with one of those pretty flower crowns the Hobbits told us about. It would be alright, but not ... not what is expected.”

Gimli stared at him. “I was talking of sharing a bed. You talk of weddings. While the first usually happens after the latter, exceptions can be made, so it is not as though they are the same ...” She frowned. “They are for Elves, are they?”

“Oh! Oh, forgive me, I should have told you. Yes. It is the act of bodily union that connects our souls. This is why I asked you not to touch me. I am not sure what exactly it is that forms the bond.”

“I should have known ... Lady Arwen was so very amused when she told us that she would be able to tell them if you were married to me by the customs of your people ... “ Gimli shook her head. “She acts all high and mighty and serious, but she likes a good jest as much as anyone, aye?”

Legolas smiled. “It must have amused her, if she thought Dwarves to be like Men in that respect – for us, it is impossible to conceive children outside of marriage, which perhaps was what she thought your parents worry about.”

“Do you think she knows I’m female?”

“She might. Your beard would not fool an Elf.”

“It did fool you.”

“As my father said, we do not pay much attention to such things. In most circumstances, it matters not what sex someone is, and it is assumed that, if it is of any importance, it will be stated.” Legolas sighed. “It was inconsiderate of me to not pay more attention, I know that now. Yet ... while I know of the evils Men can commit, in theory, I never really thought of the implications. The Lady Arwen lives among Men now, and would be more aware of the reasons why you might state to be male though you are not.”

“Aye, makes sense.” For a while, Gimli just relaxed in the hot water. However, soon her thoughts returned to the matter they had discussed. “Should we tell your father? I mean, will he be angry if he is not told?”

“Angry? No. You have good reasons. Though perhaps he might be saddened by the lack of trust that implies.”

Fair enough. “I’ll ask my parents. While I doubt they will tell embarrassing tales from my childhood here, I’m sure they want to wear their best clothes for my wedding.”

“Tales from your childhood? Is that a Dwarven tradition?”

“Not sure if it can be called a tradition. Just something parents tend to do if they get drunk enough at a gathering of friends of family, and especially at a wedding.”

“Ah – a pity, then, that they will not do it amongst Elves. I should very much like to know more about your childhood.” 

Before Gimli could reply, Legolas continued: 

“Not just the things you think important. I am sure you did many things you thought of no significance that would be very interesting to me.” He smiled. “Somewhat like your memory of my washing myself without my shirt on. I never thought it of any importance until you mentioned it.” These words were accompanied by Legolas running his fingers through his hair. Preening. It was a joy to watch. 

And a temptation, too. Perhaps she should slightly change the topic. “Aye. Now that you mention it, is there something you remember me doing that you thought particularly impressive?” There. She had found a way to ask him why he had chosen her, of all people, to fall in love with, without him noticing. 

“Many things.” Legolas’ gaze became distant, as he searched his memory. “There was one time when Sam stumbled on the Caradhras. He fell face first into the snow, and you helped him get up and get the snow off his face and clothes.”

“Funny, that. I don’t even remember that clearly.” It was all a bit of a blur. The Hobbits had needed help many a time, them being so small and the snow piled so high, and she had always helped when she noticed. “Was it the time when he thanked me in that exaggerated way?” That had been so embarrassing. 

Legolas chuckled. “It was. And you grumbled something into your beard and called him ‘laddie’.”

“Aye, sounds like something I would have done.Why would you think that impressive?” 

“It was one of the moments that made me notice that you must have a good reason to hate me so.”

“What does that have to do with me hating you?”

“Hobbits are not Dwarves, and are in many ways different from you. And yet, you were willing to be kind to them.”

“Of course I was. I always am –“ She interrupted herself. “Well. Except ...”

“Except when you have good reason to hate someone.” Legolas smiled. “I admit that I had tried to tell myself you were just dour and unpleasant by nature. How wrong I was!” 

“Ah, perhaps I can be a bit dour. At times. Though mother is really better at that.”

 

_______________-

 

Glóin watched her husband at work. His face bore a concentrated frown, as always when he put the finishing touches to one of his new glasses. However, ever since their visit to Gondor, he was different, the wrinkles were just a bit deeper, the frown a bit unhappier. 

“Still worried about Gimli?”

“Aye. I’ll only sleep well again when Lady Arwen has confirmed that they are married by Elvish customs, whatever that means. She seemed almost amused ... no idea why, it is not funny.”

“And she told you she would know if they were married? How would she know? I saw no marriage braids in her hair, and the ring she wore I know is a custom of Men.” And the Lady had been amused. “Is it possible she was, in any way, alluding to the wedding night?”

“The Lady Arwen? Do you really think she would –“

Glóin could almost watch her husband’s brain at work behind his changing expression. “If that Elf tries to get our little gem to braid his hair before –“

“I am sure Gimli will handle that in the way she deems proper.” Glóin smiled. 

“Still. I don’t want to have that Elf prance around with marriage braid in his hair and rights to all our grandchildren when he’s still considered unmarried by his kin.”

“What I was getting at ... Lady Arwen told you that the marriage ceremonies of Men would be considered binding for an Elf, did she not?”

“Aye.”

“To Men, the important thing about the wedding night is not the braiding, it’s sharing a bed. Perhaps that’s the part that’s considered binding to Elves?”

“That would be nonsensical – there’s no witnesses for that. Lady Arwen wouldn’t be able to tell ...” The frown made place for a blank expression. “She did seem very amused. And she made it sound like Legolas not being married could change any moment.”

Glóin shrugged. “We will know soon enough.”


	27. Chapter 27

Days turned to weeks turned to months, and Gimli couldn’t believe this was happening. Thranduil was ... polite. In a cool, haughty way, maybe, but ... he was polite. Gimli lived in rooms that were obviously some of the best, and while there were many unfamiliar foods on the table at every meal, she was never forced to eat them, and could easily have lived on a diet of venison and nuts. 

Legolas’ sister Lotheg, whom he had mentioned, didn’t live with her father anymore, but his brother Gaerlas made an appearance. It was obvious to Gimli that the Elf would have quite liked to be rude, but was silenced by his father’s disapproving gaze. 

Most of her time she spent with Legolas, wandering through the woods, or just sitting around in his room. She would have liked to do something useful, sometimes, but apparently Thranduil had decided that she would spend all her time with Legolas – or at least, he had freed Legolas from all the tasks that he would usually have to do. She missed their days of slaying orcs together a bit. Dwarves just weren’t made for being lazy. 

Gimli still could make drafts for the setting she wanted to make for Galadriel’s hair, but there was some actual work she wanted to do, and couldn’t do with Legolas nearby. 

When, one time, she mentioned during dinner with the Elven King that she would like to learn more about woodcarving, he just inclined his head. 

The next day, he led her to the workshop of a woodcarver, introduced her and asked the woodcarver to assist her. Then, he placed a hand on Legolas’ shoulder and steered him away. 

Gimli blinked. “You don’t have to, you know?” she said quietly. “I mean, I can hardly believe that King Thranduil is so courteous, I ...”

The Elf raised a hand. “I should be happy to assist you. Word has been that you have been granted a strand of the Lady Galadriel’s hair. Do you intend to set it in wood?”

“I was thinking more of crystal for that. Something transparent, so that it can be seen the better.” Gimli looked around. With the broken-through walls of the workshop, that were a bit like woven boughs, it was hard to tell whether they could be overheard. She spoke quietly. “What I want to work on is this.” She took out a piece of translucent, emerald green jade – incredibly rare, she had been lucky to find a piece in that shop in Gondor. The merchant, a nice elderly woman who sold mostly quartz and other semi-precious stones, had not been aware of the true value, but Gimli had still paid her a handsome sum – not the true worth, but a price one might charge a friend. Something as important such as this was not to be gained by dishonesty. 

“This is a beautiful stone”, the woodcarver said, showing that she had good taste, yet not much knowledge of stones. “What do you intend to make of it?”

“I am not sure what I want to do is possible ... I would set it in wood, but have the wood carved so that most of the stone is visible. The end result should be a bead, such as I wear in my hair ... sturdy and indestructable.” 

 

The project kept Gimli busy for a good while, and she had only just finished it when, one morning during breakfast, a messenger came to inform them that her parents were on their way. “They are not travelling alone”, the messenger added after some hesitation. “Perhaps ...”

Thranduil raised a hand. “I allowed them to bring guards.” He rose from his seat. “Lead the way, I should like to greet them before they encounter the guards.”

They walked through the forest that Gimli now knew very well. It was not long until she saw the small group – no guards. There were only two Dwarves with their ponies, and .... a very tall person, who Gimli would have sworn must be an Elf, but that made no sense. 

She had just only finished that thought when suddenly Thranduil cried out and leapt into the air like one of Legolas’ arrows, grasped a bough, leapt onto another bough, and landed right in front of the tall stranger. 

Gimli could only stare. Legolas’ father was usually very dignified. Legolas loved to dance through the trees, but Thranduil ... she would not have thought ... he didn’t even have a weapon, so this could not be some sort of necessary fighting move. “Why?”

It took a moment, but then, Legolas shook off his trance and smiled. “Let us greet your parents.”

They walked closer, and Gimli noticed that her parents were staring at Thranduil, too. And at the other Elf, for an Elf it was, indeed. 

“Gimli!”

Now, only the ponies were left to stare at the strangely behaving Elves, as the Dwarves charged forward and tackled Gimli in a hug that would almost have caused her to fall. 

“Ah, Legolas”, Gimli’s mother nodded at him. “Do you know who that Elf is? He isn’t going to harm Orn, is he?”

Legolas shook his head, laughing. No other answer was forthcoming. 

“Orn?”

“Aye. Our Elf. I’ve become quite fond of her over the time. Quite mysterious, wouldn’t say what her purpose in travelling here is, but ... ah, well. They do grow on you, those Elves, somewhat like lichen.”

That caused another bout of mirth in Legolas. Gimli patted his back. “Are you quite alright? You don’t usually laugh this much.” She could, occasionally, make him laugh, but this time she really hadn’t tried.

It took a while for Legolas’ laughter to subside. His eyes still shone with mirth when he finally talked. “I am glad that you have met my mother. And she grew on you. Like lichen.” And then he laughed so hard he had to hold his sides. 

Mother? Gimli stole a cautious glance towards Thranduil. He was standing quite close to the stranger – Orn – and they were talking in Elvish. 

“Leave them be – I shall lead you to your rooms”, Legolas declared, when he had recovered. “My parents have much to talk of. We shall meet them later.”

“Your mother?”

“My mother. Ah, it is the greatest wedding gift you could bring!”

“Can’t really take credit for that”, Gimli’s mother admitted. “She was just on the road, and asked if we would mind if she joined us.”

“Just as well.”

Legolas remained easily amused and ... carefree, the whole time as he led them inside, showed her parents their rooms, and ordered a meal for them. If he had always been like this, Gimli thought, she might have fallen in love with him at first sight. It filled her heart with joy to see him like this ... though perhaps, had he always been like this, she would have thought him flighty and irresponsible at first. 

They had arrived at dessert – mashed root vegetables mixed with blueberries and sweetened with birch syrup – when Legolas’ parents joined them. 

Thranduil bowed. “My apologies for not introducing myself earlier – I was ... distracted.” And he smiled at his wife in a way Gimli would not have thought he was even capable of. “I am Thranduil, King of this realm.”

Gimli introduced her parents. After: “... and Glóin, son of Gróin.”, she watched Thranduil intently. Gróin’s name, she had learnt, was inherently funny to Men. If he laughed ... 

He did not. In fact, he seemed more confused. “You are both male? I was under the impression that Gimli does have a mother ...”

“That would be me”, Glóin said without hesitation. “Force of habit. We usually pretend to be brothers while travelling. Safer that way.”

“Ah, yes. I see.”

“It is, indeed”, Orn reflected. “I am much indebted to you for protecting me on the road.”

Thranduil’s mien took on a thunderous expression. 

Glóin nodded. “Aye. It’s unfortunate that male Men think your kind so exceptionally beautiful, seeing as many of them cannot – or do not want – to behave themselves. I shall say no more, lest you faint with the horror. Be assured, those Men who would have harmed your wife died from an acute case of iron poisoning.”

“Poisoning?”

“Aye, very acute case of having to much good Dwarven steel in their bodies, if you catch my drift.”

And the most extraordinary thing happened – Thranduil laughed. His laughter was much like that of Legolas, merry and carefree. “You are safe here, and your secrets are safe with me.” 

Gimli nodded. “While we are at it – you may have noticed, I am actually Glóin’s daughter. Not that it would matter.” 

“It matters not, yet I am honoured by your trust.” Thranduil smiled. 

That day went by fast, the few Elves who still eyed Gimli with some distrust seemed too occupied with the return of their Queen to object to two additional Dwarves in the household, and Thranduil was ... weird. 

Only when they retired to their bedrooms did Gimli have an opportunity to talk to Legolas – by simply walking into his room instead of hers. 

“Must be a strange situation. Your mother having returned all of a sudden.” She leant on the door, surveing the room, which was now only lit by the candle Legolas had brought, and silvery moonlight. 

“It is.” Legolas smiled brightly. “Strange, but good. If I didn’t know better, I would think she came just for my wedding.”

“You know better?”

“I ... well. My father blamed himself. I thought that, perhaps, he did this in the way I blamed myself for her death, but ... it might be more than that. They did fight a lot, the last weeks before ...” Legolas sighed. “While I am not sure, it is possible that it is not a coincidence she traveled here with your parents.”

“Not a coincidence? How so?” Gimli had no idea how this returning from the afterlife worked, but it would be sensible to travel with some trustworthy Dwarves ... from the point of view of a Dwarf, that was. “Thinking about it, it is strange that she should have the same way.”

“It is. And more than that. Father had ... changed. I noticed it, too. He was ... colder, more ... not selfish, no, but more intent on protecting his realm, more hostile to outsiders.” Legolas’ eyes bore that distant look that signalled he was thinking about the past. “He had become the version of himself that you heard of. And he has ever been like this, until ...” 

Gimli could see tears shine in Legolas’ eyes, but didn’t interrupt – it was in the past, after all. 

“When we returned together, when I woke and he was there ... I was annoyed at his rudeness, but ... he was different.“

“Aye. I didn’t recognize the Elf of the tales my mother told me. You told me you knew that he loves you ... but he didn’t really show it until then, aye?”

“He did ...” Legolas sighed. “He did show it by protecting me, by trusting me with important tasks ... and as I said then, he never favoured my siblings over me. Yet you are right, he had not spoken affectionate words for a long time. When I woke that morning and he greeted me, it was like a dream; he told me all was well, and that was why I did not get up immediately; I feared I would wake, and he would be cold and distant again.”

“Makes sense that your mother would return just now, I suppose – if even she couldn’t get him to be more affectionate before ...” Gimli cleared her throat. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about, though – I acknowledge your mind is preoccupied with this, but perhaps you could still ...”

“There is always room for you, in my heart, and in my mind also. What is it that you wanted to talk of?”

“Well. I wanted to ask what you think of this.” She reached into her pocket and took out the bead she had fashioned from wood and stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find a name for Legolas' mother in canon, so ... Orn it is. You will notice I wasn't very creative with Legolas' siblings, either.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a sex scene in this chapter, not very graphic, but if you don't want to read such scenes, skip over everything that happens after they go to their bedroom. ;)

Legolas felt his gaze was fixed to the thing in Gimli’s hand. It seemed to be a bead of some sort, the likes of which she wore in her hair, just a bit bigger. Green stone was ensconed in wood, the wood fashioned in such a way that there was a leaf-shaped window in it through which the stone could be seen, the leaf-vines a delicate pattern covering it. 

“Beautiful”, he whispered, when he realized that some kind of comment likely was expected. “Extraordinarily beautiful. There is nothing else I could say about it – the wood is not of a kind I have worked with before.” It was entrancing, but he sensed no dark influence; it was a great work of art. 

“Ah good.” She returned it to her pocket, and Legolas felt oddly bereft. Why show him something this beautiful and then not at least braid it into her hair? Yet it was hers, he had no right to it, so he said nothing. 

“Now, I should sleep in my own quarters, but what about a kiss before that?”

“Certainly.” To his relief, the brief feeling of disappointment had already faded at that suggestion. “And a song? And ... will you braid my hair for bed?”

“Sounds good.” 

Her arms were around him the instant he had knelt down, and their lips met shortly after. There was a safety in her embrace he had not ever felt anywhere else, though perhaps as a child, his parents had given him a similar sense of protection. 

And then, of course, there was the roughness of her hands in his neck, the softness of her lips, her beard against his chin ... and all the feelings that came with it. 

“Can I ask for a happy song this time?”

He laughed softly. “I do not think I could sing any other right now.”

While he sang, she braided his hair, and it was all as it should be – except that lingering excitement, that longing, that there might be something more, something even better. 

 

________________

 

Gimli wore her very best clothes for the wedding. Deep emerald green velvet, that contrasted her red hair, and also, it turned out, matched really nice with Legolas’ preferred colours. 

His greens were a different shade, dark green like firtrees, light green like young beech-leaves. Golden hair cascaded down his back in the intricate braids he had tried to impress her with, back then in Gondor, and like then, there was a gold thread worked into it. The courting braid, as well, was part of the pattern. Legolas’ robes were embroidered with leaves in gold thread, on his hair sat a circlet of mithril, decorated with an emerald. 

Gimli noticed that her parents had brought their very best clothes, too – bright colours, embroidered with threads of precious metals, gems sewn onto the sleeves. 

Elvish weddings, it turned out, involved little ceremony. The speech held by Orn was to introduce Gimli’s parents, then Thranduil told the story of how he had first met Gimli, and then Legolas gave the assembled Elves a short version of the journey of the Fellowship of the Ring, focusing on Gimli’s achievements, politely omitting the less flattering incidents. He ended with the declaration that he intended to marry her. 

Gimli then gave her own speech on how she had gotten to know Legolas, ended with the declaration that she intended to marry him, and they shook hands. 

And that was it, over and done with, in a fraction of the time Arwen and Aragon had taken to get married. 

Very sensible, Gimli thought, as she sat next to Legolas, in front of a full plate. The Elves probably had wanted some justification as to why their Prince had chosen to marry a Dwarf, but other than that, there really was no need for much talking.   
The sooner the feast begun and the wine started to flow, the sooner everyone would be very merry and approving of their marriage. 

It didn’t take long for her parents to get sufficiently drunk to start talking about the time little Gimli had given herself a haircut, and it only got worse from then on. For Legolas’ sake, and because his laughter was such a beautiful sound, Gimli endured it for far longer than she usually would have. Then, finally, she stated: “I think the hour is late enough to go to bed.”

“Indeed, it is”, Legolas agreed immediately. He rose from his seat and didn’t even try to hide the enthusiasm on his face. 

Gimli almost had difficulties keeping up with him as he led the way to his bedroom. 

Inside, she turned to bolt the door. When she turned around, Legolas was already out of his outer layer, and struggled to open the laces which fastened the second layer of his wedding garments. 

“Impatient much?” She smiled. Couldn’t exactly blame him. 

“Aren’t you?” There was the slightest hint of insecurity in his voice. 

“I am.” She stepped closer to help him with the laces. “Just would have thought you’d be more patient, what with being an Elf and thousands of years old.”

“Ah, but that only means I have waited longer to find my other half.” He was now tugging at some laces, causing to become more entangled. 

“Fair enough.” She carefully removed his shirt. “Still, try not to ruin your clothes – a weaver put a lot of time into this.”

He closed his eyes and threw his head back.”But I need you. Now.”

Well. Now she was impatient, too. Still, one had to respect another’s craft, and so she untied the laces on Legolas’ garments, then proceeded to get out of her own robes, which was much easier done – one outer robe, and underneath just plain linen. 

Legolas was already naked, on the bed, when she removed her loincloth. 

“Please?” He writhed, obviously frustrated by his arousal, yet unwilling to remedy it himself. His hands were clutched into the clean white sheets, his eyes closed. 

Impossible to resist. 

She sat next to him on the bed and touched his shoulder. 

“More!”

With both her hands caressing his chest, he writhed even more desperately. “Gimli, please ...”

“Shall I guess?” He was glorious, naked and aroused like this. “Like this?” She gently touched the inside of his thighs. “Or this?” She pressed a kiss on his stomach. 

“All!”

Deciding to not tease him too much, she brought her hand to cup his sex. “Better?”

He didn’t reply, and when she looked into his eyes, they were wide open. She withdrew her hand. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes – I ...” He sought to avert his gaze. “I am still afraid. Of what will happen. I ...”

“Shhh, it is alright.” She clasped his shoulders. “Everything is alright.”

“We are to be married! I cannot ...”

“You can do whatever you want. Now, you say you are afraid of what happens when you climax ...”

“Yes?” His voice trembled with apprehension. 

“Shall we see if I can keep you like this – so aroused, so greedy for my touch – the whole night? Never letting you reach the peak of pleasure?”

Now he met her gaze, and the expression on his face was ... feral, in a way, freed from all the careful control it usually had. ”Yes”, he breathed. “Yes.”

 

With many breaks, it took about half the night to explore his body with satisfying thoroughness. 

It was only after Gimli had kissed all of the marble-white chest she had been so entranced by long ago, that Legolas softly asked “Let me touch you?”

“Aye.”

His hands were just as gentle as she remembered, and when he added his lips, she thought she must be dreaming. 

“You have such beautiful hair”, Legolas sighed happily. “So gorgeous.” It was not the hair on her head of which he was speaking, she was quite certain, as his forehead hovered over her belly at this the time. “I want to run my fingers through it, and ... and ...”

“It’s too short for braiding.” She could see where he was looking now, and longed to have his hands there. 

“No.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I want to see what lies beneath. Yet ...” She could see him shiver with arousal. 

“Take your time, love.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a (very short) sex scene that is actually plot-relevant. 
> 
> To elves, sex=marriage, as per canon. Other elves can tell, too. I have interpreted this to mean that whatever happens, happens during orgasm. And it did not happen in the previous chapter because Legolas was too nervous. So, if you skip the sex scene, you should know that's what happens, plot-wise.

Glóin was not much surprised when her daughter failed to show up for breakfast the next day. Fortunately, although the wedding celebrations would last another two days, breakfast was reserved for the closest family. 

“They should be up by now”, Legolas’ brother observed with a frown. “They went to bed before everyone else!”

Orn and her husband smiled indulgently, as did Legolas’ sister. Glóin disguised her chuckle as hiccup. Save for the elf youth, no one here was under any illusions as to what the newlyweds had spent the night with. 

Then, though, Gimli did show up, closely followed by Legolas. 

And the Elves reacted .. strangely. Oh, they did try to hide it, but after travelling so long with an Elf, Glóin could still see they were ... upset? Shocked, almost. 

But Gimli seemed well, if a bit tired, as did Legolas. The only strange thing was that there was no marriage braid in Legolas’ hair, but that wouldn’t upset the Elves, who knew nothing about it.   
Gimli seemed happy enough, so the fact that Legolas’ hair was just a disheveled version of the braiding of the wedding day, was probably due to lack of time and sleep.

They all continued their meal, but Glóin could tell that the Elves spent more time exchanging worried looks than eating. 

Finally, Legolas’ brother mumbled something, unfortunately in Elvish, so Glóin couldn’t understand a word. 

However, the effect on Gimli was immediate. She got up, turned around and left the room without a word. 

Legolas ran after her. 

If Glóin had, at this moment, not already deduced that the young Elf’s words had been an insult, the reactions of his parents and sister spoke for themselves. They stared at him in shock, until, finally, Orn said: “Another word, and I will ask you to leave the table. You will apologize to Gimli when she returns.”

“What did he say?”, Glóin asked, mildly curious, though not sure she really wanted to know. 

“An insult. Please do not ask me to repeat his exact words.”

Just as well. “You seemed upset when your son entered the room. May I ask why?”

“You may. While I am sure it is ... nothing to do with your daughter, he is ... he is not wed.”

Ah. If her theories on Elvish marriage were correct, then that meant that they had not shared a bed. Which meant that the rude remark had, perhaps, been a slight against Gimli. Her attractiveness, or her prowess in such matters ... 

“They were probably too tired”, Glóin heard her husband say, and she could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice – there was no marriage braid in Legolas’ hair, so it was of little concern whether the marriage was binding in Elvish customs. 

 

Gimli waited for Legolas to enter before she closed the door. 

“You understood what my brother said?”

“Not all of it, but enough. Something about Dwarves, and something about beauty, though I am rather sure he meant to say that I am not beautiful.”

“He did, I am afraid. Are you very angry?”

“Angry?” She smiled. “My love, I am not easily angered today. Much too tired, for one. But I will not sit calmly while I am being insulted, and your brother needs to learn he cannot behave like this - is he very young?”

“Not so very young anymore – he could be wed already. Yet he is still childish in many things. I am sorry. I just ... it only occurred to me that we should not leave my chambers with me still unwed when you had already fallen asleep, and I did not want to wake you. Then, this morning, you were already dressed ...”

“Don’t apologize. You were afraid.”

“I was a coward.”

“Nonsense, it is not as if anyone was harmed by your reluctance. Except, possibly, your brother, who made a fool of himself.”

Legolas smiled. “Yes. That he did. Yet ... we cannot show ourselves to the public like this.”

“Why not?”

“I will not have them think that you are not beautiful to me.” Now he stared at her with grim determination. “Because you are. I desire you. And I am not afraid anymore.” 

“Is that true, or do you only say it because you wish to spare me the embarrassment?”

“It is true. I so enjoyed myself last night I just never thought to suggest ... but I am ready now. Come. Perhaps a kiss might do it.”

“That will not do.” Though it was hard to resist him as he knelt before her. “I will have you naked and in the bed.”

He seemed to like that, as he pulled his light robe over his head, and laid down on the bed, beautiful as ever. 

“I like that. More light to see you in.” She removed her boots and shirt, then met Legolas’ gaze, and couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Ah, well.” There was no need to take her own pleasure, she could do that at night. So she knelt down on the bed next to her beloved and kissed him without holding back. 

He writhed most deliciously, but she took her time, running her hands over his body, until she finally grasped his erect sex. “There, now, look into my eyes.” When she was satisfied that his gaze was not that of a frightened deer, but instead more that of a stag in heat – or what she thought that a stag in heat would look like – she started moving her hand. “You are safe with me”, she reassured him. “I love you.”

For a short time, his eyes were unfocused as they were when he was asleep, he thrust into her hand, and then ... then his eyes focused again, and that was when she noticed it. There was ... something. At the corner of her mind. Pleasant, a comforting presence. “We are bonded now.”

Legolas smiled, more relaxed than he had ever appeared before. “We are.” 

“I did not think I would be able to feel it.”

“You feel it, too?” 

“Aye. It’s like ... like when you are in a mine ... no, you wouldn’t understand ... it’s like, you remember when we left Lórien in boats? It’s like you are in one of those boats and I’m on the shore, and you have thrown me a rope, and I know, if orcs attack, you will pull me onboard, and if the water gets dangerous, I can pull you to the shore? That feeling.”

“A good description, and one I will use the next time someone asks how it feels to be married.” He laughed. “When I asked my parents how it feels, they said it feels good, but could not describe it. And that was, perhaps, why I was so afraid. How silly of me!”

“Not silly. Just because someone else likes a feeling doesn’t mean it feels good for you, too.” She touched his hair. “Do you want a marriage braid, now?”

“Of course!”

She washed her hands, fetched the fine-toothed comb that had somehow taken up permanent residence in her room, and began to untangle his braids. 

“Just a marriage braid for now, and I will help with your hair for tonight later? I am still a bit hungry.”

Legolas laughed. “Just the marriage braid, then. Your parents would never forgive me if I starved you.”

“Aye, quite probably not.”

Even though she knew that Legolas’ brother would not recognize it, Gimli felt a smug satisfaction at braiding all of her husband’s hair into the marriage braid. This meant she had to fasten it with a leather band, anyway, so she braided the bead in a bit higher, where it was prominently displayed to any onlooker. 

“There. Now you look like a Dwarf’s husband.” She gently placed the braid over his shoulder so that he could see it. 

“Oh!” He stared at the bead. “I know this!”

“Aye. I wanted it to be a surprise, but couldn’t very well show it to you only just before braiding it in, aye? If you hadn’t liked it, that would have been awkward, so ...”

“And I was so disappointed when you put it away! Thought I might never see it again, as you seemed so decided to not let me hold it!” 

“Then I am sorry, I should not have disappointed you so. It is no more than a pretty trinket; I would not have thought ...”

“No more than pretty trinket? Will your parents tell me the same if I ask them?”

“Nah, I crafted it with my own hands, and it is your marriage bead, to them, it holds meaning. I just didn’t think ...”

“That it would hold meaning to me? Even when I did not know what it was, I knew how much work went into it.” He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “I shall cherish it forever.”

Forever. Did he know what he was saying? Would he still wear the braid, and bead, hundreds of years after her death?

Gimli was not sure whether to wish for it, or not. 

“Forever”, he repeated. “And now, let us see if there is some food left over from breakfast.”

“This will be awkward.” His poor parents would know exactly what he did just now, and hers, well, perhaps they would think she had just forgotten to braid his hair earlier. Hopefully. 

“No more awkward than this morning already has been. It is all my fault, I will explain to my family.”


End file.
